The man nodded emphatically. “Funny thing is,” he said, “that they’ve had no information at the office. The stationmaster generally gets advice when the train leaves Plymouth.”
“Good lord,” said Gurney. “Do you mean to say that the train hasn’t got to Plymouth yet?”
“Looks like it,” said the stranger. “They say it’s the plague. It’s dreadfully bad in London, they tell me.”
“D’you mean it’s possible the train won’t come in at all?” asked Gurney.
“Oh! I should hardly think that,” replied the other. “Oh, no, I should hardly think that, but goodness knows when it will come. Very awkward for me. I want to get to St Ives. It’s a long way from here. Have you far to go?”
“Well, Padstow,” said Gurney.
“Padstow!” echoed the stranger. “That’s a good step.”
“Further than I want to walk.”
“I should say. Thirty miles or so, anyway?”
“About that,” agreed Gurney. “I wonder where one could get any information.