CHAPTER I.
The Dover express was nearing town: evening had begun to draw in, and from the wayside houses people saw the train roar by like a huge glowworm; but they could hardly guess that it was hurrying two real actors to the climax of a real comedy.
From the opposite sides of a first-class carriage these two looked cheerfully at one another. The Channel was safely behind them, London was close ahead, and the piston of the engine seemed to thump a triumphal air.
“We’ve done it, Twiddel, my boy!” said the one.
“Thank Heaven!” replied the other.
“And myself,” added his friend.
“Yes,” said Twiddel; “you played your part uncommonly well, Welsh.”
“It was the deuce of a fine spree!” sighed Welsh.
“The deuce,” assented Twiddel.