The group in the corridor, already aware of the strange disappearance of the Englishman’s pocket-book and the American lady’s reticule, attacked the Company’s official, complaining of the thefts, claiming the protection of French law, threatening the most terrible reprisals. The unhappy collector knew nothing about it and grasped only one fact, to wit, that two passengers were travelling without tickets. The discussion was growing acrimonious when Tom Bob intervened. “My good man,” he said, “will you be so good as not to press this lady and gentleman for a few minutes; their tickets are not lost, only mislaid—mislaid in somebody else’s pocket; it will be all right, will it not, if the tickets are handed to you before reaching Paris? I guarantee this will be the case.” Bob’s specific undertaking reassured the man. “Very good!” he said, “we’ll see about it at Asnières.” Ascott was about to pester the detective with a string of questions, but the latter stopped him with a shake of the head. “Wait a bit,” he said, “I think we’re slowing down.” The train in fact was slackening speed, though no station was in sight; on the contrary it had just run into the Forest of Saint-Germain; great trees bordered the line on either side. Tom Bob dashed hurriedly down the corridor, the train going slower and slower all the time. Suddenly the detective sprang forward. The door opening from the corridor on to the permanent way had been unfastened from the inside by someone proposing to get out, presumably intending to take advantage of the diminishing speed of the train to jump down on to the ballast without fear of accident. Quick as this suspicious movement had been, Tom Bob had forestalled it, seizing the individual by the collar. “So ho! my young friend,” he cried, without relaxing his hold, but on the contrary twisting his wrist hard, so as to paralyse all resistance, “so you wanted to give your friends the slip, did you? That’s not pretty behaviour, upon my word!” Pale as death, with a look of fear on his face, the other growled in a savage voice: “Let go, by God, let go, or I’ll kill you.” But Tom Bob only smiled: “Kill me, eh?” he laughed, “what with? with your revolver; just feel in your pocket with your free hand, my fine little man, you’ll find your gun’s not there any more.” The startled thief gave a choking cry of terror; mechanically he did as he was bid and searched his pocket. The detective was right, his revolver had vanished. “It was I confiscated it, my lad,” the detective informed him, “you are too young to use such weapons handily; a student, the deuce!... a student like you can’t expect to have the dexterity of a master like me; besides, we have _this_ little difference between us, I’m on the job for honest reasons, while you ...”