The Passenger from Calais

CHAPTER I.

[_Colonel Annesley's Story_]


The crossing from Dover to Calais had been rough; a drizzling rain
fell all the time, and most of the passengers had remained below.
Strange to say, they were few enough, as I saw on landing. It was a
Sunday in late July, and there ought to have been a strong stream
setting towards Central Europe. I hardly expected to find much room in
the train; not that it mattered, for my place was booked through in
the Lucerne sleeping-car of the Engadine express.

Room! When I reached the siding where this train de luxe was drawn up,
I saw that I was not merely the first but the only passenger. Five
sleeping-cars and a dining-car attached, with the full staff,
attendants, chef, waiters--all lay there waiting for me, and me
alone.

"Not very busy?" I said, with a laugh to the conductor.

"_Parbleu_," replied the man, polyglot and cosmopolitan, like most of
his class, but a Frenchman, or, more likely from his accent, a Swiss.
"I never saw the like before."

"I shall have a compartment to myself, then?"

"Monsieur may have the whole carriage if he wishes--the whole five
carriages. It is but to arrange." His eyes glistened at the prospect
of something special in this obvious scarcity of coming tips.

"The train will run, I hope? I am anxious to get on."

"But assuredly it will run. Even without monsieur it would run. The
carriages are wanted at the other end for the return journey. Stay,
what have we here?"

We stood talking together on the platform, and at some little distance
from the railway station, the road to which was clear and open all the
way, so that I could see a little party of four approaching us, and
distinguish them. Two ladies, an official, probably one of the guards,
and a porter laden with light luggage.

As they came up I discreetly withdrew to my own compartment, the
window of which was open, so that I could hear and see all that
passed.

"Can we have places for Lucerne?" It was asked in an eager, anxious,
but very sweet voice, and in excellent French.

"Places?" echoed the conductor. "Madame can have fifty."

"What did I tell madame?" put in the official who had escorted her.

"I don't want fifty," she replied, pettishly, crossly, "only two. A
separate compartment for myself and maid; the child can come in with
us."

Now for the first time I noticed that the maid was carrying a bundle
in her arms, the nature of which was unmistakable. The way in which
she swung it to and fro rhythmically was that of a nurse and child.

"If madame prefers, the maid and infant can be accommodated apart,"
suggested the obliging conductor.

But this did not please her. "No, no, no," she answered with much
asperity. "I wish them to be with me. I have told you so already; did
you not hear?"

"_Parfaitement_, as madame pleases. Only, as the train is not
full--very much the reverse indeed--only one other passenger, a
gentleman--no more--"

The news affected her strangely, and in two very different ways. At
first a look of satisfaction came into her face, but it was quickly
succeeded by one of nervous apprehension, amounting to positive fear.
She turned to talk to her maid in English, while the conductor busied
himself in preparing the tickets.

"What are we to do, Philpotts?" This was said to the maid in English.
"What if it should be--"

"Oh, no, never! We can't turn back. You must face it out now. There is
nothing to be afraid of, not in that way. I saw him, the gentleman, as
we came up. He's quite a gentleman, a good-looking military-looking
man, not at all the other sort--you know the sort I mean."

Now while I accepted the compliment to myself, I was greatly mystified
by the allusion to the "other sort of man."

"You think we can go on, that it's safe, even in this empty train? It
would have been so different in a crowd. We should have passed
unobserved among a lot of people."

"But then there would have been a lot of people to observe us; some
one, perhaps, who knew you, some one who might send word."

"I wish I knew who this passenger is. It would make me much easier in
my mind. It might be possible perhaps to get him on our side if he is
to go with us, at least to get him to help to take care of our
treasure until I can hand it over. What a burden it is! It's terribly
on my mind. I wonder how I could have done it. The mere thought makes
me shiver. To turn thief! Me, a common thief!"

"Stealing is common enough, and it don't matter greatly, so long as
you're not found out. And you did it so cleverly too; with such a
nerve.