Taking the hint, the guard retired and started the train, Beaumanoir resuming his seat in a frame of mind only to be described as mixed. He stared out into the gloom of night, wondering what was to come next. His little stratagem had succeeded, in so far as it had revealed Marker as the possessor of a ticket, and therefore as presumably charged with some design against himself, though it had shed no light on the nature of that design. But the adroitness with which the wretched spy had extricated himself made him gnash his teeth because of the impudent reliance on his inability to assign a reason to the guard for fearing an intruder. That in itself was clear evidence that Mr. Marker was under the seat with a very real purpose. Had that purpose been entirely thwarted by his discovery? was the question which buzzed through the Duke’s brain to the tune of the rolling wheels. There had been an air of insolent confidence in the fellow as he showed his ticket and walked away which hardly tallied with total discomfiture. And then, mused Beaumanoir, was there not ground for further apprehension in his selection of a fresh compartment and a fresh traveling companion? Could it be that "the toff" who had entered the train at Elstree was an accomplice, and that Mr. Marker had gone to report to him and concert new measures? It might well be so, for, whether wittingly or no, the swaggering passenger had certainly caused the diversion which had enabled Marker to open the door on the off side and creep under the seat. The reflection that the spy might have confederates on the train did not add to Beaumanoir’s equanimity, and at the next stop he let down the window again and peered along the line of carriages. Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of a head protruding from the compartment into which Marker had disappeared—not the head of Marker himself, but of the imperious person who had played the magnate and distracted the guard. The head was instantly withdrawn, but it had done a useful work in convincing Beaumanoir that he was really an object of interest in that quarter, and not to Marker alone. "I wish they would _do_ something and end this beastly suspense," the hunted man muttered to himself as the train moved on once more; "though, for the matter of that, they can’t do anything till I get out at Tarrant Road—unless they openly come to the door and shoot me at one of the few remaining stoppages." But he was soon to learn that stations were not to be the only stopping-places for the 8.45 that night. It had come to a steep gradient, up which it was plodding laboriously, when suddenly there was a bumping thud that hurled Beaumanoir on to the opposite seat; the wheels screeched on the metals as if in agony; a tremor as of impending dissolution quivered through the framework of the carriage, and the train jerked to a standstill.