“Have you left him at the station?” “Yes—well guarded.” “I’ll come along,” said Marescal. “If you don’t mind, sir. But first I should like to learn exactly what happened on the train.” “Right,” said Marescal The inspector climbed up into the car, with a policeman. Marescal at once took him to the compartment in which lay the body of the English girl. “Everything’s going all right,” Ralph said to himself. “If old pomade-pot starts expounding his theory, it will keep him busy for a while.” The confusion had cleared from his mind; he was aware of quite unexpected intentions which had suddenly risen in his mind, without his knowing it, so to speak, and without his understanding at all the secret motives of his actions. He opened the window, leaned out, and examined the line on that side of the carriage. Darkness and not a soul! He jumped down. CHAPTER III THE KISS IN THE DARK The station of Beaucourt is situated in the open country at a considerable distance from the outskirts of the village, with not even a cottage near it. The platform was lighted by all the lamps, lanterns, and candles they had been able to lay hands on, so that Ralph was obliged to approach it with infinite care. The station master, a workman, and a porter were talking to the policeman in charge of the prisoner. In the shadowy dusk of this room were piles of baskets and crates, intermingled with boxes and trunks of all kinds. As he drew near, Ralph fancied that he saw, sitting on a heap of objects a bent and motionless figure. “That must be the girl with the green eyes,” he said to himself. “No need to lock the door since the jailors, standing in front of it, make it a safe enough prison.” He slipped into the booking-office and looked about him. There was a door on the left of him, a waiting-room on the right, out of which a staircase rose to the story above, and in the right-hand wall of this waiting-room another door. From the position of the rooms that must be what he wanted. For a man like Ralph a bolt was an obstacle hardly worth taking into account. He always had on him four or five small tools with which he could make sure of opening the most recalcitrant of doors. At the first attempt the bolt yielded. He opened the door an inch or two and found that not a ray of light fell on him. He opened it wider, and, stooping, entered. The men outside had been able neither to see nor hear him, nor had the prisoner, whose dull sobs broke the silence with a rhythmical monotony. Ralph took advantage of the noise outside to slip his head between two piles of baskets to get a clear view. He found himself just behind the heap of mail-bags on which the prisoner had thrown herself. This time she must have heard the sound he made, for her sobbing ceased. As it ceased he whispered: “Don’t be frightened.” “Is it you, William?” she whispered. Ralph gathered that she was speaking of the other fugitive; he answered: