“Well, Bodmin, then,” suggested Gurney.
“Aw, why not take the train?” asked the landlord.
Gurney shrugged his shoulders. “The train doesn’t seem to be coming,” he said.
“Bad job, that,” answered the landlord. “Been an accident, sure ’nough; this new plague or something.” He was evidently prepared to accept the matter philosophically.
“You can’t drive me then?” asked Gurney.
The landlord shook his head with a grin. He was inclined to look upon this foreigner as rather more foolish than the majority of his kind.
Gurney came out of the little inn, and looked down into the station. The number of waiting passengers seemed to be decreasing, but the light was so dim that he could not see into the shadows.
“I must keep hold of myself,” he was saying. “I mustn’t run.”
A man was coming up the steep incline towards him, and Gurney moved slowly to meet him. He found that it was the stranger he had spoken to on the platform.
“Any news?” asked Gurney.