"You came up with him in the same train last night from Brighton? With whom?"
"Your double."
His face was absolutely ghastly. He had gone white to the lips, and a curiously unnatural, sickly white. I could not make him out at all. I suspected that he could not make me out either. I know that something about him had for me, just then, a dreadful sort of fascination.
"I do not know, Mr. Tennant, if you are enjoying a little jest at my expense. I am not conscious of having a double, nor am I conscious of having come up with you last night in the same train from Brighton. By what train did you travel?"
"By the 8.40 express."
"By the train, that is, which leaves Brighton at 8.40?"
"Yes; and which arrives in town at ten."
Unless I was mistaken, a look of distinct relief passed over his face.
"Oh, then, you certainly never came from Brighton with me. It occurs to me, Mr. Tennant, that you are not looking well. You almost look as if you had had a recent serious shock. I trust that it is only my fancy."
He looked at me with eager, searching eyes, which reminded me very acutely of the stranger's.