the door of the tonneau, showing me up to the eyes of the taxi-drivers and a dispirited porter or two. 'Hadn't you better hurry up, old man? I've got to meet the missus in a minute or two, and I'd like to see the end of this before '
There was nothing to do but get out. The faces of the onlookers wavered and changed with interest as I walked across towards the ticket-barrier; several of the curious closed in behind. My companion had hurried ahead, putting his penny into the ticket-machine, giving it a resounding clank, and waddling to join me with an air which roused even more curiosity among the onlookers. Through the barrier I took a quick survey of the platform outside. There were about half a dozen people on it — but no Evelyn. The noise of the approaching train now seemed to make the whole station vibrate; round a curve its headlight crept, broadened, and ran silver along the rails.
'Go on through!' urged my companion. 'You don't need a ticket: does he?' He appealed to the guard at the barrier. 'There's a big criminal trying to get away by this train — robbery — robbed the Chief Constable-'
The guard opened and shut his ticket-punch. Behind me an excited voice spoke. A hand, with a square grimy fingernail in wrinkled flesh, was poked past my shoulder and pointed through the barrier at the platform outside.
'Yes,' said the voice, 'and there he is now.'
The train burst in, drowning the words, but we had all heard them. Full in the glare of the headlight, as though its reflection from the rails caught him up, a man stood by himself at the edge of the platform above the tracks. He was a tallish, weedy, limp man, a trifle stooped; his neck was craned round, and he was staring at us over his shoulder. He wore large spectacles, and had a long limp blue-chinned face. But if ever I saw an expression of fear on a human face, it was glazed there. He did not move, he only stared. For one bad moment I thought he was going to topple forward straight under the wheels of the train. But he recovered himself. The train went past with a slamming roar and a flashing of windows, slowing down with a dull kind of sigh; and, in a backwash of grit the man turned round and began to walk swiftly away.
A voice was already calling out to stop the man who had robbed somebody. I think even the ticket-taker deserted his post when we hurried through the barrier: I had to go along, because they all turned to look at me even as they took the first step. I could have given a healthy-sized groan at this further example of the cussedness of human affairs. Our quarry did not go far, or try to go far. A porter only touched him on the arm, and he turned shakily.
When we got up to where he stood, a couple of my companions I stopped in unbelief, and I almost blurted out an apology. The man in front of us was a clergyman — or was dressed like one. He had on the dark coat, the dickey, the clerical collar from which his weedy neck projected, and had a soft dark hat set squarely on his head. If he had kept his nerve at that moment, the hunters might have excused themselves, and I — should have been able to fade away. But he did not keep his nerve. His forehead was wet, and his eyes behind the spectacles had a fishy glaze.
'All right,' he said, not much above a whisper. 'All right, all right,' he went on rapidly, with a faintly foreign intonation. 'I'll go with you. I knew I couldn't get away with it. I knew I wouldn't have the luck to get away with it. I knew that damned Antrim woman saw me, just when I was going out to the car-'
I looked down at the black bag he was carrying, and knew something too.
'You're Mr. Joseph Serpos, aren't you?' I said.
'Y-yes. I — how did they find me in this?' He fumbled at the breast of his clerical outfit, in a sort of weak bewilderment and savagery. I thought the man was going to cry. 'I — had it all arranged. These clothes. Passport. I-'
'Give him the usual warning!' interposed a crafty voice out of the crowd, in some excitement. 'You must give him the usual warning. That's the law.'
Serpos put a hand to his forehead. 'Get me out of here,' he said. 'I–I give myself up. You'd better take this. It's got the-you know — in it. You'd better take it.'
The black bag, containing whatever it was he had stolen, was put into my hands.
'Ain't you going to write down what he says?' interposed the crafty voice again. 'Where's your notebook? You must write down what he says. Where's your no-o-otebook?'
I was getting pretty flustered. Symbolically speaking, I wished to give the crafty voice a push in the face. Around us the group was increasing, while I stood with a prisoner whom I was forced to capture, and a bag containing stolen goods in my hand. What the devil was I going to do with him? This time the matter was past doubt: it was the sort of rumpus which would inevitably draw down a real Robert within a few more minutes.
I looked out over the crowd, seeing all sorts of faces — but nowhere did I see Evelyn. There was some confusion caused by people getting off the train (my zealous friend in the tweed cap was embracing a stout lady, but looking over her shoulder to see what went on), and a clutter of trucks hung round the luggage-van. The train breathed noisily in faint steam. Its coaches, coloured in brown and cream, had their doors and windows crowded with heads; through other windows I could see the red-shaded lamps of a restaurant-car, and I ached for sustenance beyond the resources of a halfpenny; finally, a board along' the coach-roofs bore the inscription: PLYMOUTH, BRISTOL & PADDINGTON, which meant
the open road to London.
Then I saw Evelyn at last.
She was just turning round after getting into a fast-class compartment, and peering out of the open door. She looked nervous and worried now; her eyes searched the platform;
Immediately behind her in the same compartment I saw none other than Mr. Johnson Stone, just in the act of putting his straw hat down on a corner seat. He straightened up, with a glow on his alert pince-nez and a cigar in his mouth. Then he caught sight of me.
He looked at my uniform, and it is no exaggeration to say that his eyes bulged. I saw him reach across and pluck Evelyn by the arm. 'For God's sake, look,' Stone said, 'he's disguised again.'
The crafty voice was persisting beside me. 'Why don't you search him?' it hissed. 'Maybe he's got a gun. Here, I'll run and call another p'iceman'
While I ordered the crowd to stand back, I made a gesture towards Evelyn which I hope she interpreted as a warning to stay where she was until I could get out of this. If I bolted for the train now, the fat would be in the fire and I should be caught. On the other hand, the train must be almost ready to pull out. From the corner of my eye I saw a harassed and worried station-master hurrying up with a watch in his hand.
'Here, what's going on here?' he protested. 'What's the matter, constable?'
'Sorry, sir. This man's given himself up; he's wanted for larceny in Torquay. The Chief Constable-'
The station-master peered at me. 'Stop a bit: who are you? You've never been assigned to this station. I know every policeman in this whole tow
'No, sir. I'm from Torquay. Special service.'
'Ah, good,' said the station-master, with a breath of relief. 'We can't have trouble and arrests all over this station. (Stand back, if you please, my friends!) Then you can take him back to Torquay. Number 3 — down platform; over there — just coming in — last train to Torquay to-night. Come along: I'll take you. No fuss, now.'
Already a couple of doors were slamming on the London train.
'Listen,' I said, and pulled the station-master to one side; 'very important. Sorry, but I must look at the swag in this valise first. Is there a private place close at hand, where I can take him?' I nodded towards Serpos, who had not moved. 'And can you drive these people away? Also, if you could go and keep a compartment empty on the Torquay train-?'
'I'll attend to it myself,' said the station-master, 'and I'll have this platform clear in two seconds. Compartment? Yes.
You can take him into the waiting-room, if you like. There'll be nobody there.'
Serpos was wiping the corner of his eye, and he tried to jerk his arm away as I hustled him across to the waiting-room. It was a dim place where, at the moment, there did not even seem to be anyone behind the window of the booking-office. I was relieved to see that a half-open door led to the street outside.
'All right,' I said. 'Get out! Through that door. Quick, before they see you!'
Serpos had sat down limp as a laundry-bag on a bench against the wall, under a peeling poster declaring the merits of Something-on-Sea. He had his hands pressed to his face, and there were hollows between the ligaments down the backs of them. I thought he was sobbing, but he was only cursing in a low, cold, shaky voice. From
