“Ah, my dear fellow, there you are. I wondered what had become of you.”
“Good God, man, hurry up or we shall miss the train.”
“I never miss a train. Have you got good seats? The chef de gare has gone for the night; this is his assistant.”
The man in the bowler-hat took it off when Ashenden nodded to him.
“But this is an ordinary carriage. I am afraid I could not travel in that.” He turned to the stationmaster’s assistant with an affable smile. “You must do better for me than that, mon cher.”
“Certainement, mon général, I will put you into a salon-lit. Of course.”
The assistant stationmaster led them along the train and put them in an empty compartment where there were two beds. The Mexican eyed it with satisfaction and watched the porters arrange the luggage.
“That will do very well. I am much obliged to you.” He held out his hand to the man in the bowler-hat. “I shall not forget you and next time I see the Minister I will tell him with what civility you have treated me.”
“You are too good, General. I shall be very grateful.”
A whistle was blown and the train started.
“This is better than an ordinary first-class carriage, I think, Mr. Somerville,” said the Mexican. “A good traveller should learn how to make the best of things.”
But Ashenden was still extremely cross.
“I don’t know why the devil you wanted to cut it so fine. We should have looked a pair of damned fools if we’d missed the train.”
“My dear fellow, there was never the smallest chance of that. When I arrived I told the stationmaster that I was General Carmona, Commander-in-Chief of the Mexican Army, and that I had to stop off in Lyons for a few hours to hold a conference with the British Field-Marshal. I asked him to hold the train for me if I was delayed and suggested that my government might see its way to conferring an order on him. I have been to Lyons before, I like the girls here; they have not the chic of the Parisians, but they have something, there is no denying that they have something. Will you have a mouthful of brandy before you go to sleep?”
“No, thank you,” said Ashenden morosely.
“I always drink a glass before going to bed, it settles the nerves.”
He looked in his suitcase and without difficulty found a bottle. He put it to his lips and had a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lit a cigarette. Then he took off his boots and lay down. Ashenden dimmed the light.
“I have never yet made up my mind,” said the Hairless Mexican reflectively, “whether it is pleasanter to go to sleep with the kisses of a beautiful woman on your mouth or with a cigarette between your lips. Have you ever been to Mexico? I will tell you about Mexico tomorrow. Good night.”
Presently Ashenden heard from his steady breathing that he was asleep and in a little while himself dozed off. Presently he woke. The Mexican, deep in slumber, lay motionless; he had taken off his fur coat and was using it as a blanket; he still wore his wig. Suddenly there was a jolt and the train with a noisy grinding of brakes stopped; in the twinkling of an eye, before Ashenden could realise that anything had happened, the Mexican was on his feet with his hand to his hip.
“What is it?” he cried.
“Nothing. Probably only a signal against us.”
The Mexican sat down heavily on his bed. Ashenden turned on the light.
“You wake quickly for such a sound sleeper,” he said.
“You have to in my profession.”
Ashenden would have liked to ask him whether this was murder, conspiracy or commanding armies, but was not sure that it would be discreet. The General opened his bag and took our the bottle.
“Will you have a nip?” he asked. “There is nothing like it when you wake suddenly in the night.”
When Ashenden refused he put the bottle once more to his lips and poured a considerable quantity of liquor down his throat. He sighed and lit a cigarette. Although Ashenden had seen him now drink nearly a bottle of brandy, and it was probable that he had had a good deal more when he was going about the town, he was certainly quite sober. Neither in his manner nor in his speech was there any indication that he had drunk during the evening anything but lemonade.
The train started and soon Ashenden again fell asleep. When he awoke it was morning and turning round lazily he saw that the Mexican was awake too. He was smoking a cigarette. The floor by his side was strewn with burnt-out butts and the air was thick and grey. He had begged Ashenden not to insist on opening a window, for he said the night air was dangerous.
“I did not get up, because I was afraid of waking you. Will you do your toilet first or shall I?”
“I’m in no hurry,” said Ashenden.
“I am an old campaigner,
