Detective and mystery stories; England -- Fiction; Journalists -- Fiction; Murderers -- Fiction
That he lived at Southend I knew from an observation he had let fall;
and after watching the barrier at Fenchurch Street station for a couple
of hours, I saw him enter an empty third-class smoking compartment five
minutes before the departure of an evening train. Half-a-crown slipped
into the guard’s hand, with a request that he would put me into the
same carriage and reserve it, effected the desired result, and when
the train moved out of the station the little man and myself had the
compartment to ourselves.
I knew from what I had heard of my companion’s remarks on the occasion
when I had journeyed to Southend with him that, though talkative and
inquisitive, he was also shrewd and observant, as men of his occupation
generally are, and as it would be necessary to ask him two or three
pertinent questions, I thought it advisable to let the first advance
come from him. That he was already eyeing me in order to ascertain
whether an overture towards sociability was likely to meet with a
welcome, I could see. The result was apparently satisfactory, for after
an introductory cough he inquired whether I would like the window up or
down.
Always beware on a railway journey, when you wish to be left to the
company of your newspaper, of the man who is unduly anxious for your
comfort. ’Twere wise to roar him at once into silence, for your gentle
answer, instead of turning away wrath, is often too apt to beget it.
Speak him civilly, and you deliver yourself bound into his hands; for
you have scarce made your bow of acknowledgment, sunk back into your
place and taken up your paper again, before his tongue is hammering
banalities about the weather at the thick end of the wedge he has
inserted.
In the present instance, as the little man sat facing the engine
and with the wind blowing directly in his face, whereas I was on the
opposite and sheltered side, the window rights were, according to
the unwritten laws of the road, entirely at his disposal. But as it
suited my purpose to show a friendly front to his advances, I protested
with many thanks that I had no choice in the matter, and awaited with
composure the inevitable observation about the probability of rain
before morning. From the weather and the crops we got to the results
of a wet summer to seaside places generally, and thence to Southend. I
remarked that I thought of taking a house there, and asked him about
the residents.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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