"It was the express, mein herr," explained the woman. "It never stops. We are too small yet. Some time we may be big enough." I noticed that her eyes were fixed in some perplexity on the old clock above the pie shelves. "Ach! But it has never been so far ahead of time as to-night. It is not due for fifteen minutes yet, and here it is gone yet." "Perhaps your clock is slow," I said. "My watch says four minutes to twelve." Whereupon she heaped a tirade of abuse upon the shrinking Hans for letting the clock lose ten minutes of her valuable time. To make sure, Hans set it forward nearly half an hour while she was looking the other way. Then he began mopping the floor again. At half-past twelve the train from Munich drew up at the station, panted awhile in evident disdain, and then moved on. A single passenger alighted: a man with a bass viol. There was no sign of the Tituses! We made a careful and extensive search of the station, the platform and even the surrounding neighbourhood, but it was quite evident that they had not left the train. Here was a pretty pass! Britton, however, had the rather preposterous idea that there might be another train a little later on. It did not seem at all likely, but we made inquiries of the station agent. To my surprise--and to Britton's infernal British delight--there was a fast train, with connections from the north, arriving in half an hour. It was, however, an hour late, owing to the storm. "Do you mean that it will arrive at two o'clock?" I demanded in dismay. "No, no," said the guard; "it will arrive at one but not until two. It is late, mein herr." We dozed in the little waiting-room for what I consider to be the longest hour I've ever known, and then hunted up the guard once more. He blandly informed me that it was still an hour late. "An hour from _now_?" I asked. "An hour from two," said he, pityingly. What ignorant lummixes we were! Just ten minutes before three the obliging guard came in and roused us from a mild sleep. "The train is coming, mein herr." "Thank God!" "But I neglected to mention that it is an express and never stops here." My right hand was still in a bandage, but it was so nearly healed that I could have used it without discomfort--(note my ability to drive a motor car)--and it was with the greatest difficulty that I restrained a mad, devilish impulse to strike that guard full upon the nose, from which the raindrops coursed in an interrupted descent from the visor of his cap. The shrill, childish whistle of the locomotive reached us at that instant. A look of wonder sprang into the eyes of the guard. "It--it is going to stop, mein herr," he cried. "Gott in himmel! It has never stopped before." He rushed out upon the platform in a great state of agitation, and we trailed along behind him, even more excited than he.