The train drew up.
"Well, of all the nuisances!"--cried Philip, disgusted, as they prepared to leave the car.
Yerkes, like the showman that he was, began to descant volubly on the advantages and charms of the hotel, its Swiss guides, and the distinguished travellers who stayed there; dragging rugs and bags meanwhile out of the car. Nobody listened to him. Everybody in the little party, as they stood forlornly on the platform, was in truth searching for Anderson.
And at last he came--hurrying along towards them. His face, set, strained, and colourless, bore the stamp of calamity. But he gave them no time to question him.
"I am going on," he said hastily to Elizabeth; "they will look after you here. I will arrange everything for you as soon as possible, and if we don't meet before, perhaps--in Vancouver--"
"I say, are you going to hunt the robbers?" asked Philip, catching his arm.
Anderson made no reply. He turned to Delaine, drew him aside a moment, and put a letter into his hand.
"My father was one of them," he said, without emotion, "and is dead. I have asked you to tell Lady Merton."
There was a call for him. The train was already moving. He jumped into it, and was gone.