“Ah!” said the Sergeant exultingly, “they’re going for us again, then. ‘Dear Sir,’ he read. ‘With reference to our letters to you complaining of abstraction from our parcels of cigars sent by railway, we think it only right to inform you that we have discovered these pilferages were made by one of our own men. It appears that after delivering the parcels at the station here, and after they were weighed, he was in the habit of offering to take them to the train, and whilst doing this effected the robberies to which reference has been made. We need scarcely point out that if the station had been wisely managed these lamentable occurrences would in all probability never have taken place; the only question is, who is responsible? We are, dear sir, yours faithfully—’” “A paltry trick to play on anybody,” said the Sergeant. “At the same time, sir, I think there’ll be no harm in making a change in the staff.” “I intend to do so. Will you keep your eyes open, Sergeant—” “Ain’t they always?” “And,” said the Superintendent, “look out for another berth. Shut the door quietly after you.” VIII—QUESTION OF TEMPERATURE L.O.M. caught sight of M.R. two or three times on the journey, and M.R. made more than one effort to obtain completer details by inspection of the blue card label on L.O.M.’s bag. A certain coolness on M.R.’s side marked their first meeting, but this was the fault of the English Channel; it certainly looked like a practical joke, not quite in good taste, when a sudden lurch of the steamer sent him against her on the upper deck; despite his apologies, there was about the incident a suggestion of Holloway Road on Sunday evenings. M.R. told her married sister that she considered him a bounder; the married sister replied that this description could be applied to men in general, with one single exception. “Be very careful, Margaret,” she added, “how you make acquaintances. We shall run up against all sorts.” “All sorts,” complained the girl, “seem to be running up against me.” At the Paris Station of the Lyons railway, L.O.M. appeared in a more favourable light, rescuing the married sister’s coat which had been taken from a peg in the buffet by a Frenchwoman who was either short-sighted or deficient in honesty. At Vallorbes, it was he who came to the window of their compartment—the hour being five a.m., and snow on the ground—and gave the welcome news that their registered luggage was not amongst the packages selected for examination at the Swiss frontier. “Do you think I might get you some coffee?” he asked. “Certainly not!” answered the married sister promptly.