"Yes, I was in the 8.45," he replied, looking the other squarely in the face. "You joined it at Elstree, I think. I noticed you because a man who was found under the seat of my compartment got into yours at Radlett, and I saw you leaving the train with him after the accident." For the fraction of a second the man failed to control the answering defiance of his eyes, but he got a grip of himself soon enough to prevent a premature explosion. "Really?" he said, with affected carelessness. "He was under the seat, eh? Funny sort of person to be traveling first-class; but, of course, you will understand that I am not acquainted with him." Beaumanoir made no comment. He had got what he wanted. That sudden tell-tale gleam of menace had discounted the subsequent disclaimer, and he knew that this man had been no chance fellow-passenger with Marker, the spy. What was more, the man knew that he knew it, and Beaumanoir shrewdly guessed that the effort of control was intended to deceive not him but the keeper. The rascal was biding his time till he had learned what dispositions were to be made for the night, when doubtless he would shape his actions accordingly; and, in the meanwhile, it was necessary to his purpose that Sir Claude Asprey’s honest old retainer should regard him as an innocent guest. Again that persistent reliance on the Duke’s impotence to speak up and boldly claim protection. All through the hot pursuit that leaguered him so closely this was the bitterest drop in Beaumanoir’s cup, for it was he himself who had placed the gag in his own mouth, he himself who had forged the fetters that kept him from running to Scotland Yard with an exposure of the whole conspiracy. And it is galling to be hampered by a past lapse from virtue when you have abandoned evil courses and are like to lose your life for doing so. "Now that this gentleman has come in your Grace will _have_ to have the spare bedroom," said Mayne triumphantly, moving towards the door. "The wife will have it ready for you in a brace of shakes." Beaumanoir detained him with a hasty gesture. "One minute," he said, "I’m not at all sure that I care about having the bedroom. I had arranged to sleep downstairs on the settle, you know. Why shouldn’t we adhere to that plan, and let this gentleman have the room?" He was moved to discover which of the two sleeping-places his enemies would prefer him to occupy, and also by the imperative need of gaining time to gauge the altered circumstances. Moreover, if Mayne went upstairs to consult his wife he would be left alone with this great strapping potential assassin, who as like as not would promptly admit half a dozen other assassins from outside. Strangely enough, it was the potential assassin himself who solved his dilemma—by tossing a visiting-card on to the table. "I shouldn’t dream of sleeping in the bedroom while you are roughing it down here, your Grace," he said. "I shall certainly insist on occupying the settle."