Mr. Hamilton Fynes discovered that place of entertainment without difficulty, ordered for himself a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and drew a chair close up to the small open fire, taking care, however, to sit almost facing the only entrance to the room. He laid his hat upon the counter, close to which he had taken up his position, and smoothed back with his left hand his somewhat thick black hair. He was a man, apparently of middle age, of middle height, clean-shaven, with good but undistinguished features, dark eyes, very clear and very bright, which showed, indeed, but little need of the pince-nez which hung by a thin black cord from his neck. His hat, low in the crown and of soft gray felt, would alone have betrayed his nationality. His clothes, however, were also American in cut. His boots were narrow and of unmistakable shape. He ate his sandwich with suspicion, and after his first sip of coffee ordered a whiskey and soda. Afterwards he sat leaning back in his chair, glancing every now and then at the clock, but otherwise manifesting no signs of impatience. In less than half an hour an inspector, cap in hand, entered the room and announced that everything was ready. Mr. Hamilton Fynes put on his hat, picked up his suitcase, and followed him on to the platform. A long saloon carriage, with a guard’s brake behind and an engine in front, was waiting there. “We’ve done our best, sir,” the station-master remarked with a note of self-congratulation in his tone. “It’s exactly twenty-two minutes since you came into the office, and there she is. Finest engine we’ve got on the line, and the best driver. You’ve a clear road ahead too. Wish you a pleasant journey, sir.” “You are very good, sir,” Mr. Hamilton Fynes declared. “I am sure that my friends on the other side will appreciate your attention. By what time do you suppose that we shall reach London?” The station-master glanced at the clock. “It is now eight o’clock, sir,” he announced. “If my orders down the line are properly attended to, you should be there by twenty minutes to twelve.” Mr. Hamilton Fynes nodded gravely and took his seat in the car. He had previously walked its entire length and back again. “The train consists only of this carriage?” he asked. “There is no other passenger, for instance, travelling in the guard’s brake?” “Certainly not, sir,” the station-master declared. “Such a thing would be entirely against the regulations. There are five of you, all told, on board,--driver, stoker, guard, saloon attendant, and yourself.” Mr. Hamilton Fynes nodded, and appeared satisfied. “No more luggage, sir?” the guard asked. “I was obliged to leave what I had, excepting this suitcase, upon the steamer,” Mr. Hamilton Fynes explained. “I could not very well expect them to get my trunk up from the hold. It will follow me to the hotel tomorrow.”