Fletcher gathered up the papers and went out on his quest, and managed to leap into the carriage as the train was moving, nearly falling over a young girl who was the sole occupant of the compartment, and hastily apologised.
“I hope I did not hurt you,” he said.
“Not at all,” she answered with a bright smile “but I was afraid you were going to slip between the carriage and the platform; it’s dangerous getting into trains like that you know.”
He was amused at the serious fashion in which she rebuked him. A glance at her showed him that she had a pretty face and a smart figure, and was neatly but plainly dressed.
On the floor was a letter which she had dropped, and stooping, he picked it up, and with his quick, trained eyes instinctively read the name—‘Miss Ena Sefton.’ As he handed it to her, ‘Sefton … Sefton …’ he said to himself. Where had he heard that name? Of course, the medical student who had been called in to see the dead Lord Reckavile. It was an uncommon name, and the train was going to Portham Junction. What a strange coincidence if …
“My name is Fletcher,” he said, for he had no reason to conceal his identity. “I wonder if by chance you know Portham-on-Sea.”
“Why certainly,” she replied “I live there at present, with my brother. Are you going there?”
“Yes,” he said “I am staying there a few days. It’s a sort of bungalow town, isn’t it?”
“You’ll find it terribly dull in the winter. Of course, in the summer it’s different,” she said.
“Oh, I want to be quiet and have a rest,” he replied. “I am sure I shall not find it dull,” and he glanced at the girl.