THE train was crowded, but he secured a corner seat in one of the cell-like compartments. It was empty when he entered, but immediately after, to his surprise, Brown and Chelwyn followed him in and deposited their goods upon three seats that they might in the manner of all experienced travellers, occupy breathing space for three at the cost of two tickets. They took no notice of Timothy until the train drew out and he wondered what their game was. It was hardly likely that they would start any rough work with him after their experience of the morning and less likely because these boat trains were well policed.
Clear of the Riverside Station the smooth Englishman leant forward.
“I hope, Mr. Anderson,” he said, “that you will forget and forgive.”
“Surely,” said Timothy, “I have nothing to forgive.”
“My friend,” said Mr. Brown with a smile, “is very precipitate—which means hasty,” he explained.
“Thank you,” said Timothy, “I thought it meant crooked.”
A spasm contorted the features of Mr. Chelwyn, but he said nothing. As for Brown, he laughed. He laughed heartily but spuriously.
“That’s not a bad joke,” he said, “but to tell you the truth, we mistook you for—one of us, and my friend and I thought it would be a good joke to get the better of you.”
“And was it?” asked Timothy.
“It was and it wasn’t,” said Mr. Brown, not easily nonplussed. “Of course, we intended restoring the money to you before you left the ship.”
“Naturally,” said Timothy. “I never thought you would do anything else.”
“Only you know you rather spoilt our little esprit.”
“If the conversation is to develop in a foreign language,” said Timothy, “I would only remark: Honi soit qui mal y pense,” and the polite Mr. Brown laughed again.
“You do not mind if my friend and I have a little quiet game by ourselves, if,” he said humorously, “we swindle one another.”
“Not at all,” said Timothy. “I have no objection to watching, but if,” he said cheerfully, “you should suddenly draw my attention whilst your friend’s head is turned, to the ease with which I could win a hundred pounds by picking the lady, or discovering the little pea under the little shell, or show me a way of getting rich from any of the other devices which the children of the public schools find so alluring at the country fair, I shall be under the painful necessity of slapping you violently on the wrist.”
Thereafter the conversation languished until the train had run through Crewe and was approaching Rugby. It was here that Mr. Brown stopped in the midst of a long, learned discussion on English politics to offer his cigarette-case to Timothy. Timothy chose a cigarette and put it in his pocket.
“That is one of the best Egyptian brands made,” said Mr. Brown casually.
“Best for you or best for me?” asked Timothy.
“Bah!” It was the red-haired Chelwyn who addressed him for the first time. “What have you to be afraid of? You’re as scared as a cat! Do you think we want to poison you?”
Mr. Brown produced a flask and poured a modicum of whisky into the cup and handed it to his companion, then he drank himself. Then, without invitation he poured a little more into the cup and offered it to Timothy.
“Let bygones be bygones,” he said.
“I have no desire to be a bygone,” said Timothy, “I would much rather be a herenow.”
Nevertheless, he took the cup and smelt it.
“Butyl chloride,” he said, “has a distinctive odour. I suppose you don’t call it by its technical name, and to you it is just vulgarly ‘a knock-out drop.’ Really,” he said, handing back the cup, “you boys are so elementary. Where did you learn it all—from the movies?”
The red-haired man half rose from his seat with a growl.
“Sit down,” said Timothy sharply, and with a jerk of his hand he flung open the carriage door.
The men shrank back at the sight of the rapidly running line, and at the certainty of death which awaited any who left the train on that side of the carriage.
“Start something,” said Timothy, “and I’ll undertake to put either one or both of you on to the line. We’re going at about sixty miles an hour, and a fellow that went out there wouldn’t be taking a chance. Now is there going to be a rough house?”
“Close the door, close the door,” said Mr. Brown nervously. “What a stupid idea, Mr. Anderson!”
Timothy swung the door to and the man moved up towards him.
“Now, I’m just going to put it to you plainly,” said Brown. “We’ve made the voyage out to the Cape and the voyage back and the only mug we met was you. What we won from you just about paid our expenses, and I’m putting it to you, as a sportsman and a gentleman, that you should let us have half of that stuff back.”
“The sportsman in me admires your nerve,” said Timothy, “but I suppose it is the gentleman part that returns an indignant ‘No!’ to your interesting observation.”
Brown turned to his companion.
“Well, that’s that, Len,” he said, “you’ll just have to let the money go. It is a pity,” he said wistfully and his companion grunted.
That ended the conversation so far as the journey was concerned, and Timothy heard no more until he was in the gloomy courtyard at Euston Station and stepping into his taxi.
To his surprise it was the red-haired man who approached him, and something in his manner prevented Timothy from taking the action which he otherwise would have thought necessary.
“Look here, young fellow,” he said, “you watch Brown—he’s wild.”
“You’re not exactly tame,” smiled Timothy.
“Don’t take any notice of me,” said the man a little bitterly. “I am engaged in the rough work. I should have got two hundred out of your money—that’s what made me so wild. Brown paid all my expenses and gives me ten pound a week and a commission. It sounds funny to you, doesn’t it, but it is the truth,” and somehow Timothy knew that the man was not lying.
“He’s finished with me—says I am a hoodoo,” said the little man. “Do you know what I’ve got out of five weeks’ work? Look!”
He held out his hand and disclosed two ten-pound notes.
“Brown’s dangerous,” he warned Timothy. “Don’t you make any mistake about that. I was only wild because I was losing my money, but he’s wild because you’ve got fresh with him and caught him out every time. Good night!”
“Here, wait,” said Timothy.
He felt in his pocket.
“If you’re lying, it is a plausible lie and one that pleases me,” he said. “This will salve my conscience.”
He slipped two notes into the man’s hands.
Chelwyn was speechless for a moment. Then he asked:
“And where are you stay............