The passenger who had got in at Reading seemed to know his way about as well as did Mr. Pargent. This man, who somehow vaguely suggested a retired ship’s officer, had an iron-grey beard and a curious patch of crimson, such as is popularly known as a port-wine mark, on his left cheek. He walked slowly down the subway, so slowly that Mr. Pargent overtook him before he reached the foot of the stairway. The two ascended it together, only a few steps separating them, Mr. Pargent leading. The mouth of the stairway was blocked, as it so often is in wet weather, by a knot of people unfurling their umbrellas and waiting for an interval in the traffic to dash across to the refuge in the middle of the road. Mr. Pargent unfolded his umbrella like the rest, and seizing his opportunity, ran for the island. The interval was a narrow one; an almost unceasing stream of buses and taxis was pouring down Praed Street. Only two or three followed Mr. Pargent’s example, among them the Reading passenger. In the blinding rain and the flurry of the traffic nobody noticed a swift movement of the latter’s arm, nor did they watch him as he left the refuge immediately and gained the far side of the road. The clock above the entrance of the station showed it to be exactly five o’clock. The Reading passenger glanced at it, walked swiftly a few yards westward up Praed Street, then, seizing his opportunity, crossed the road again. This brought him to the slope leading to the departure platform of Paddington station. He hurried through the booking office on to No. 1 platform, at which stood the 5.5 train for Bristol, which stops for the first time at Reading. He showed the ticket collector a third-class single ticket for Reading, and the man hastily opened a carriage door and pushed him in. “Near shave that, sir!” he remarked. The passenger was far too short of breath to do anything but nod his head in reply. He sank down exhausted upon the seat as the guard blew his whistle and the train drew out of the station. There were only two men beside himself in the carriage, and they, with true British indifference, took no further notice of him. The train had nearly reached Reading when he walked down the corridor to the lavatory. He did not return to the carriage, but stepped Straight from the corridor to the platform as the train came to rest. He mingled unnoticed with the stream passing the barriers. He noticed that the hands of the clock pointed to ten minutes to six.