“I wish you luck!” said the officer, as they parted. “I have looked up a time-table, and there is a train due to leave in about an hour; it probably won’t start for three or four more, after the fashion of the country, so you will have plenty of time. You ought to reach your destination before morning, however.”
And soon afterward Henry Roberts with a satchel in either hand, made his way across the rickety gangplank and set out as fast as he dared down the unlighted dock. He was gruffly held up by someone who greeted him in French, and left him uncertain for a few minutes as to whether or not he was a highwayman. It proved, however, to be merely a custom-house officer, and after the usual ceremony of tipping had been gone through with, the passenger once more set out.
He was half expecting to be greeted by a row of cabmen, but if any such existed in St. Pierre they had been frightened away by the storm, and he was compelled to find his way to the station by himself. He found only a dimly lighted shed, with apparently no person in sight. To his great relief, however, the train arrived only a short time afterward, and he made his way into the stuffy car, which was lighted only by an ill-smelling oil lamp at one end.
There was another long wait before the train finally started, having on board only one other passenger besides Roberts.
This person was, apparently, either an Englishman or an American—a tall, slenderly built man with an exceedingly pale face. As he came into the car very silently and seated himself at the extreme end, turning away as if to escape observation, Roberts refrained from attempting to open a conversation with him.
Though he did not understand a word of French, he had the name of his station firmly settled in his mind and lost no time in impressing it upon the conductor of the train. When he had made certain that the latter perfectly understood his meaning he sank back in the seat and closed his eyes with a peaceful feeling that at last his troubles were over. The road was, however, a remarkably ill-built one and the car swayed in such a manner that he found it impossible to secure a moment’s rest. He fell at last to watching the other passenger.
This person had at first remained with his head sunk forward as if in thought; but the ride had continued only about half an hour before Roberts saw that his fellow-traveler was looking up and gazing about nervously. Several times he leaned forward suddenly, as if to spring to his feet, but each time he again sank back, and once the American heard him mutter a subdued exclamation to himself.
He seemed to be growing more and more excited. And then suddenly came the climax of the whole unusual performance. The man bounded to a standing position, an expression of the wildest terror on his face. “I can’t do it!” he gasped, in a choking voice. An instant later he leaped forward.
There was a window in front of him, and for an instant Roberts thought that he meant to fling himself from it. But, instead, the man reached for the bell-rope and gave it a fierce jerk.
The effect was immediate, the train at once beginning to slow up. The strange man turned and rushed down the car, his eyes gleaming and his arms waving wildly. “I can’t do it!” he cried again and again. “I can’t do it!”