It must be evident that as Mr. Strangways didn't know what was to happen he could have no plan of action. All he could arrange for was that he and I should be on the spot. As it is difficult for guilty lovers to elope while acquaintances are looking on, he was resolved that they should find elopement difficult. For anything else he relied on chance--and on me. Chance favored him in keeping Stacy Grainger out of sight, in putting Mrs. Brokenshire next to me, and in making the action, such as it was, run smoothly. Had I known that he relied on me I should have been more terrified than I actually was, since I was relying on him. It will be seen, then, that at the moment when Mrs. Brokenshire and I left the train Larry Strangways had but a vague idea of what had taken place. He merely conjectured from the swish of skirts that we had gone. His next idea was, as he phrased it, to make himself scarce on his own account; but in that his efforts miscarried. Hoping to slip into another car and thus avoid a meeting with the outmanoeuvered lover, he was snapping the clasp of the bag into which he had thrust his cap when he perceived a tall figure enter the car by the forward end. To escape recognition he bent his head, pretending to search for something on the floor. The tall figure passed, but came back again. It was necessary that he should come back, because of the number on the ticket, the ulster, the walking-stick, and the golf-clubs. What Stacy Grainger saw, of course, was three empty seats, with his secretary sitting in a fourth. The sight of the three empty seats was doubtless puzzling enough, but that of the secretary must have been bewildering. Without turning his head Mr. Strangways knew by his sixth and seventh senses that his employer was comparing the number on his ticket with that of the seat, examining the hand-luggage to make sure it was his own, and otherwise drawing the conclusion that his faculties hadn't left him. For a private secretary who had ventured so far out of his line of duty it was a trying minute; but he turned and glanced upward only on feeling a tap on his shoulder. "Hello, Strangways! Is it you? What's the meaning of this?" Strangways rose. As the question had been asked in perplexity rather than in anger, he could answer calmly. "The meaning of what, sir?" "Where the deuce are you going? What are you doing here?" "I'm going to Boston, sir." "What for? Who told you you could go to Boston?" The tone began to nettle the young man, who was not accustomed to being spoken to so imperiously before strangers. "No one told me, sir. I didn't ask permission. I'm my own master. I've left your employ." "The devil you have! Since when?" "Since this morning. I couldn't tell you, because when you left the office after I'd given you the tickets you didn't come back." "And do you call that decent to a man who's-- But no matter!" He pointed to the seat next his own. "Where's the--the lady who's been sitting here?"