"No—I'll wire if I want you, Mario. Hurry, now—And put in that suit the tailor sent before we left. The blue serge—and some decent shirts. I haven't time to change now."
He picked up the A.B.C.—studied it and his face cleared.
"You'll have to meet me at Victoria—the Brighton line—seven-forty. Get me a first-class return—here's some money. I'm off to dine. You understand? And don't be late."
"The Signore can count on me." Mario's black eyes flashed. He revelled in this love affair.
"And good fortune go with you—long life—and many children!" he added softly to himself as the door closed with a bang. Then, with his quick, careful hands, he folded a pale grey tie that appealed to him—it looked bridal!—and thought tenderly of Lucia...
McTaggart bolted a hurried meal at Victoria, one eye on the clock. He caught up a Globe as he passed the book stall and found his man in the front part of the long train, cool and collected, keeping the seat with his suit-case.
"Change at Brighton," said the guard. "You'll have twenty minutes to wait. Thank you, sir—there's no stop." He waved his arms—they were off.
The carriage held another man. McTaggart gave him a careless glance as they puffed out of the dark station and leaned back in his corner.
The stranger opened a narrow bag beside him and hunted for a cap. Unconsciously watching him, McTaggart saw that a stethoscope lay on the top of the littered contents.
"A doctor," he decided as his companion rose to his feet, and carefully placed his top-hat on the rack, then turned to McTaggart.