He, too, was Belgian, he explained, and in charge of the refugees in the neighbourhood.
"The French hardly welcome us cordially," he said, "but I do my best to help the poor creatures whom Fate leads this way."
The conversation drifted to the recent air raid on London.
"I wonder they don't come here," said the conductor.
"On dit qu'il y a trop d'espions!" I remarked simply.
The dark man jumped, and, winking significantly, whispered in my ear:
"One can't talk here. You are in it too?"
Utterly taken aback, I was dumb for a moment. Had I by chance come upon one of the members of that huge octopus-like system of enemy espionage?
Then, moved by some unaccountable impulse, I nodded knowingly, and pointed out to sea.
"You know, then?" he asked, nodding in the direction in which I pointed. "Oui! Après la guerre."