It was not until the train stopped at Carlisle that he was fortunate enough to take a corner seat. Already he had scanned _The Times_ and _The Scotsman_ those hubs of the newspaper worlds north and south of the Tweed. The rest of the occupants of the compartment still retained that insular reserve that has been partly broken down since the memorable August 1914, so Entwistle amused himself by admiring the scenery as the train ascended picturesque Liddisdale. Many a time had Entwistle travelled north by this route, but the beauties of the Lowlands as viewed from the North British Railway never palled. As the train approached Galashiels it slowed down rapidly, coming to a standstill just outside the station. It was an unusual occurrence, for the express was supposed to make a non-stop run from Carlisle to Edinburgh. Carriage windows were opened and passengers thrust their heads out to ascertain the cause of the delay. "A truck with a lot of luggage has fallen off the platform on to the line," remarked one of the passengers. "They've removed it now." The train began to move. Before it gathered much speed it was running through the station. Suddenly Entwistle was all attention, for standing on the opposite platform was "his man"--the _soi-disant_ Captain Fennelburt. Entwistle recognised him at once, in spite of the fact that he wore civilian clothes. He was evidently waiting for a train bound south. For a brief instant the Secret Service man deliberated on the chance of being able to leap from the train. He would have cheerfully run the risk of violating the Company's rules and regulations, but there are limits to personal activity. He would not have hesitated to jump, for he possessed more than a moderate amount of courage; but prudence predominated. It would be of little use to find himself stranded at Galashiels with a broken limb, he argued; but there was the communication-cord. Even as he pulled the chain that gave the alarm in the guard's van, greatly to the surprise of his fellow passengers, another train thundered past. There was not a moment to lose. "What's wrong, sir?" inquired eight or nine curious voices. "Are you ill?" Without replying, Entwistle grasped his bag and stick, went into the corridor, and began to make his way towards the guard's van. The train showed no signs of slowing down. Already it must have run a couple of miles beyond Galashiels. Presently the vacuum brakes were put in action, and with a peculiar sensation, akin to the rapid stopping of a lift, the train drew up. "Guard!" exclaimed Entwistle peremptorily, as the uniformed official attempted to hurry past him in the narrow corridor. "I pulled the communication-cord." "What for, sir?" Entwistle produced a card from his pocket and explained matters. By this time another two precious minutes had passed. "Very good, sir," said the guard, retaining the piece of cardboard. "If you'll alight, we'll get on. It's a tidyish step back to Galashiels, d'ye ken?"