“So am I,” he said, with a sigh of relief as he removed his grey felt hat to ease his head. They had only hand-baggage, and this having been quickly transferred to the cab, he handed her in. As he placed his foot upon the step to enter the vehicle after her, a voice behind him suddenly exclaimed—
“Hullo, Tristram! Back in London again?”
He turned quickly, and recognised in the elderly, grey-haired, well-groomed man in frock-coat and silk hat his old friend Major Gordon Maitland, and shook him heartily by the hand.
“Yes,” he answered. “London once again. But you know how I spend my life—on steamboats or in sleeping-cars. To-morrow I may start again for Constantinople. I’m the modern Wandering Jew.”
“Except, that you’re not a Jew—eh?” the other laughed. “Well, travelling is your profession; and not a bad one either.”
“Try it in winter, my dear fellow, when the thermometer is below zero,” answered Captain Frank Tristram, smiling. “You’d prefer the fireside corner at the club.”
“Urgent business?” inquired the Major, in a lower tone, and with a meaning look.
The other nodded.
“Who’s your pretty companion?” Maitland asked in a low voice, with a quick glance at the girl in the cab.
“She was placed under my care at Leghorn, and we’ve travelled through together. She’s charming. Let me introduce you.”