"Yes, sir, I should say so. A rather bustling, business-kind of gentleman: I used to see him often before he turned rogue. Leastways before it was known. You'd never have thought it of him: you'd have trusted him through thick and thin."
Smith at Foxwood was not bustling in his manners: rather quiet. But, as Sir Karl's thoughts ran, there was nothing there for him to be bustling over: and, besides, the trouble might have tamed him. In other particulars the description might have well served for Smith himself, and Karl's hopes rose. Grimley watched him keenly.
"Have you a photograph of him?" asked Karl.
"No, sir. 'Twas a great pity one was never took. I might have had it done at Liverpool that day; but I thought I'd got himself safe, and it didn't occur to me. Ah! live and learn. I never was done before, and I've not been since."
"You let him escape you in the train?"
"I let him: yes, sir, that's the right word; as things turned out. 'Don't put the handcuffs on me, Grimley,' says he, when we were about to start for the up-night train. 'It's not pleasant to be seen in that condition by the passengers who sit opposite you. I'll not give you any trouble: you've got me, and I yield to it.' 'On your honour, sir?' says I. 'On my word and honour,' says he. 'To tell you the truth, Grimley,' he goes on, 'I've led such a life of fear and suspense lately that I'm not sorry it's ended.' Well, sir, I put faith in him: you've heard me say it, Mr. Burtenshaw: and we took our seats in the carriage, me on one side, my mate, Knowles, on the other, and Salter, unfettered, between us. He had got a great thick fluffy grey wrapper on, half coat, 'half cloak, with them wide hanging sleeves: we touched the sleeves on both sides, me and Knowles, with our arms and shoulders. There was one passenger besides; he sat opposite Knowles, and slept a good deal. Salter slept too--or seemed to sleep. Well, sir, we had got well on in our journey, when from some cause the lamp goes out. Soon after, the train shoots into a tunnel, and we were in utter darkness. Salter, apparently, was sleeping fast. A glimmer of light arose when we were half way through it, from some opening I suppose, and I saw the opposite passenger, as I thought, leaning out at the far window, the one next Knowles. The next minute there was a sound and a rush of air. Good heavens he has fell out, I says to Knowles: and Knowles--I say he had been asleep too--rouses up and says 'Why the door's open.' Sir, when we got out of the tunnel, the rays of the bright lamp at its opening shone in; the opposite passenger was safe enough, his head nodding on his breast, but my prisoner was gone."
Karl caught up his breath; the tale excited him. "How could it have been done?" he exclaimed.
"The dickens knows. There was his thick rough coat again our arms, but his arms was out of it. How he had managed to slip 'em out and make no stir, and get off his seat to the door, I shall never guess. One thing is certain--he must have had a railway key hid about him somewhere and opened the door with it: he must have been opening it when I thought it was the passenger leaning out."
"What did you do?"
"We could do nothing, sir. Except shout to arouse the guard; we did enough of that, but the guard never heard us. When the next station was reached, a deal of good time had been lost. We told what had occurred, and got the tunnel searched. That Salter would be found dead, everybody thought. Instead of that he was not found at all; not a trace of him."