The train was moving but not yet fast. It seemed to be slowing down again. There was fresh shouting and whistling on the platform; the stationmaster saying angrily, “Put him in here”; a voice that sounded somehow well known, but which I could not recognise, answering him vigorously; and just as the train began to go faster a big man, still shouting and very hot with pursuit, tumbled into the carriage. To my delighted surprise I found myself joined by Callaghan.
The most surprising turns of good fortune, I have learned to think, are generally the reward of more than common forethought on the part of someone. My rescue in this case, which I will none the less call providential, could never have happened but for the zealous care of Callaghan himself, and of another person many hundred miles from the scene.
But of all this I was soon to hear. Meanwhile, Callaghan, who was in the highest of spirits, bestowed on me a mere smile of recognition, and poured himself forth upon Vane-Cartwright with an exuberance of pleasure at the unexpected meeting which must have been maddening. It was the only time, during my acquaintance with Vane-Cartwright, when he appeared to be in the least at a loss. Hearty good-humour was, I should think, the only attitude towards him which he did not know how to meet. So he passed, I take it, a miserable journey. Nor was his mysterious companion left to enjoy himself. To my astonishment Callaghan addressed him politely by a strange-sounding name, which I suppress, but which from the start which the gentleman gave appeared to be his name.
As for me, Callaghan leaving me in the corner which I had originally chosen had manoeuvred Vane-Cartwright into the other corner of the same side of the carriage, and the stranger into the seat opposite him, while he placed himself between me and Vane-Cartwright, and with his back half-turned towards me entertained them both.
I dozed away again and again, and I daresay I was asleep for a good part of the journey, but I endeavoured to think out in my waking moments what was the nature of the peril which had threatened me, for peril assuredly there was, and how it could have come about that I was thus rescued.
As to the former question, I got no further than the reflection, that to stick me with a knife and jump on the line or make a bolt at the London terminus (which was our first stop) would have been too crude for the purpose. As to the latter question, Callaghan, suffering our fellow-passengers to escape for a moment behind their newspapers, roused me with a nudge, and surreptitiously passed me what proved to be several pounds’ worth of telegraphic message from my wife at Florence to himself. I was hardly yet aware how thoroughly my wife’s original aversion for Callaghan had given way in the day when he had been her guest, and when she had passed from observing his weaknesses to putting up with them and occasionally reproving them. I learned now that a few hours after I had left her, my wife had telegraphed to Callaghan through a mutual friend whom she believed would have his address, stating the sort of errand on which I had gone, and the few particulars known to her which might determine my movements, and entreating him to find me, and having found me, never to leave me alone. But that was not all. The telegram stated that Vane-Cartwright was on his way home, having sent home one communication only, a telegram to a registered telegraphic address in London, that address being the word by which Callaghan had accosted the stranger.
As I afterwards learned, my wife, directly I had departed, had removed to Vane-Cartwright’s hotel. Vane-Cartwright did not know her by sight, and, if he had discovered her, he was the sort of man who would probably despise the intelligence of any nice woman. She had taken the best rooms in the hotel, close to Vane-Cartwright’s, and had otherwise set about, for the first time in her life, and for a few hours, to throw money about in showy extravagance. By money and flattery she had contrived to be informed of the address of every letter and telegram that Vane-Cartwright sent before his departure, of the name and nationality (nothing more was known of him) of his only visitor that morning, and of the further fact that shortly after Vane-Cartwright’s departure that visitor had returned and had enquired whether she had moved to that hotel, but had not asked to see her. She learned also that Vane-Cartwright had been at the station when the Milan train started, but had returned and waited for the next train. The reader already knows that she had had the intuition that false messages might be sent me in her name.
Callaghan had been away from home, and had not got the message till late in the evening before he joined me. He lost no time in going to my house to ascertain my address and what had last been heard of me. He called also at Vane-Cartwright’s house, where he was only informed that he was abroad. He left London by the first train in the morning armed with a Bradshaw and a map. Study of Bradshaw had led him to notice that I might possibly be leaving by a train which would be at the junction about the same time as his. So he was on the look out, and with his quick sight actually saw me in my train as he arrived. By running hard and shouting entreaties and promises to the officials, he had just managed to catch me.
When our train arrived at Paddington, Callaghan shook me awake. It appeared to me that Vane-Cartwright, who had not been conversational before, had just started an interesting subject by which he hoped to detain Callaghan
