Detective and mystery stories; Fantômas (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
"Good," said M. Rambert, moving towards the compartment indicated. "I
will smoke a cigar until the train starts, and immediately afterwards I
will settle down to sleep. By the way, my man, since you seem so
obliging, I wish you would undertake to call me to-morrow morning in
time for me to get out at Verrières. I am desperately sleepy and I am
quite capable of not waking up."
The guard touched his cap.
"You can be perfectly easy, sir, and sleep without the least anxiety. I
won't fail."
"Very well."
When his baggage had been stowed away, and his rugs spread out to make
the seat more comfortable still, M. Etienne Rambert repeated his appeal,
for he was an old traveller and knew that it does not do to rely too
much upon the promises of chance attendants.
"I can rely upon you, can't I? I may sleep as sound as I like, and you
will wake me at Verrières?" And the more to assure himself that the
guard would execute his orders he slipped a franc into his hand.
When he was left alone, M. Rambert continued his preparations for the
night. He carefully drew down the blinds over the door and over the
windows of the compartment that gave on to the corridor, and also
lowered the shade over the electric light, and then, in order to enjoy
the last puffs at his cigar in peace, he opened the window over the
other door and leant his elbows on it, watching the final preparations
being made by the travellers by the express on the other line.
The departure of a train is always a picturesque sight, and M. Rambert
leant forward inquisitively to note how the passengers had installed
themselves in the two compartments which he could see from his coign of
vantage.
There were not many people in the train. As a matter of fact the Brives
and Luchon line is not much used at this time of year. If the number of
passengers in the express were any criterion Etienne Rambert might
reasonably expect that he would be the only one in the slow train. But
there was not much time for observations and reflections of this kind.
On the platform for the express, which he got a glimpse of through the
compartments, people were hurrying up their farewells. The passengers
had got into their carriages, and the friends who had come to see them
off were standing alone upon the platform. There was the sound of safety
locks being fastened by porters, and the noise of trollies being wheeled
along bearing articles for sale.
"Pillows! Rugs! Sweets! Papers!"
Then came the whistle of the guard, the shriller scream from the
electric engine, and then, slowly at first but steadily, more rapidly as
the engine got up speed, the express moved along the platform and
plunged into the tunnel on the way to Austerlitz.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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