“Why such hurry? Let us lose it.” On that point we disagreed; I was not disposed to lose it. But I said nothing. The man whipped up his horse. Presently he began to insinuate his way into the station yard, which was blocked with vehicles. I saw that for him to thread his way between them would be a work of time. Moments were precious. “Come!” I said. “Let’s get out. We shall reach the pavement quicker than he will, and the train is already due to start.” We descended into the road. Picking our steps between the horses’ heads, we gained the station. I tore to the booking-office, she, laughing, close at my heels, as if the whole thing were a delightful jest. “Two firsts to Brussels!” “Too late, sir; train’s just off.” As the clerk spoke a whistle sounded. “There she goes. Platform’s closed; you won’t be able to catch her.” The lady’s face was alive with smiles. “There! After all our hurry! Isn’t that annoying?” She didn’t look as if she thought it was annoying in the least. Boys were shouting out the editions of the evening papers. Placards were displayed on the bookstall close at hand. I saw her glance at one, which had already caught my own attention. “‘Imperial Mansions Murder. Extraordinary Scene at the Coroner’s Inquest.’ Has the inquest been held? And what has happened there? What does it mean by ‘extraordinary scene’?” I felt as if every one was on the point of calling out, “Here’s the man who locked up the coroner’s court! Here’s the woman he’s spiriting away!” The sudden sight of that placard had got on my nerves. I was brusque, brutal. “Bother the inquest! What we’ve got to think about’s that train.” “Indeed? So you can be bad-tempered if you like, and civil too. I was wondering if you were always a model of lamblike decorum.” “I beg your pardon, but--the fact is, I’d made up my mind to catch that train.” “Had you? And you’d also made up your mind that I shouldn’t know what was in the papers. You’re very considerate, Mr. Ferguson.” I glanced round, startled. Her outspoken mention of my name took me aback. No doubt all the world was talking of John Ferguson; looking for him; wondering where he was. I did not want that crowd to learn that he was in its midst. My appearance of discomfiture she seemed to find amusing. “Might I ask you just one question?” “You are too hard on me; you may ask a thousand.” “Did you propose to take me all the way to Ostend without giving me anything to eat? Perhaps you’re not aware that four o’clock is the actor’s dinner-hour. I’ve not had a morsel of food all day.” “Miss Moore!”