And here, I regret to say, Mike acted from the best motives, which is always fatal.
He realised in an instant what had happened. The fellow had forgotten his bag.
Mike had not been greatly fascinated by the stranger’s looks; but, after all, the most supercilious person on earth has a right to his own property. Besides, he might have been quite a nice fellow when you got to know him. Anyhow, the bag had better be returned at once. The train was already moving quite fast, and Mike’s compartment was nearing the end of the platform.
He snatched the bag from the rack and hurled it out of the window. (Porter Robinson, who happened to be in the line of fire, escaped with a flesh wound.) Then he sat down again with the inward glow of satisfaction which comes to one when one has risen successfully to a sudden emergency.
The glow lasted till the next stoppage, which did not occur for a good many miles. Then it ceased abruptly, for the train had scarcely come to a standstill when the opening above the door was darkened by a head and shoulders. The head was surmounted by a bowler, and a pair of pince-nez gleamed from the shadow.
“Hullo, I say,” said the stranger. “Have you changed carriages, or what?”
“No,” said Mike.
“Then, dash it, where’s my frightful bag?”
Life teems with embarrassing situations. This was one of them.