I allowed the train to travel for about ten minutes, and as we slowly ascended the steep incline to Stony Coombe, between Totnes and Newton Abbot, I passed along the corridor and entered the compartment of the fugitive.
His quick, wary eyes were upon me in an instant, and I saw him start visibly in alarm, as I shut the door behind me leading to the corridor.
“I believe,” I exclaimed next moment, “that you are Mr Arthur Dawnay?”
In an instant—before, indeed, I was aware of it—I found myself looking down the big barrel of a heavy Browning pistol.
“Well?” asked the man with the red tie, without moving from his seat, yet covering me with his weapon. “And what if I am, eh?”
Upon his face was a hard, evil grin, and I saw that he certainly was not a man to be trifled with.
“You think you’ve cornered me this time, eh?” he said in a hard, dry voice. “But raise a finger, and, by Gad! I’ll put a bullet through you. So you’d best own yourself beaten, and let me slip out at Newton Abbot. Understand?”
Then, next moment, the train unfortunately entered the tunnel, and we were plunged in complete darkness.