I spent the most wretched night of my life. I saw all that I had planned for going by the board. Sooner or later I should be forced into extreme recklessness by this dreadful drain on my resources, and then, “Ten years’ hard labour” at least. This little vixen I had reared! Making her teeth meet in the hand which had fed her, for the sake of some broken-lunged piece of worm-fodder. I’d like to have flung her into a cell full of drunken stokers! And then I dozed off, and woke in the most confident, buoyant mood. That is why I am superstitious, for I have had this experience several times--just when I have felt that I was trapped at last, I have had these sudden flashes of confidence and ease, and always something has happened to save me. It would come this time! I went to see Charity off, pretending to be in despair, and imploring her to make some concession. “Oh, shut up!” she said. “I’m not doing this for myself, I’m doing it for Jim. He’s sweet and he’s straight and I love him. Words you don’t know the meaning of, you mixture of dirty crook and frozen fish, so you can work for him or go to clink and work for His Majesty, and you’ve got a week to choose.” She had just got into a coach about half-way up the train, and I was about to leave when my eye was caught by an individual in clerical attire who was sauntering down the platform and glancing sharply at the people upon it. As he drew near he seemed vaguely familiar to me. Suddenly he saw me, and gave me a quick, meaning look. He passed close to me, and as he went past he said slowly and distinctly, “There’s more room in the third coach.” The third coach! The third coach! And in a flash I saw a third coach turn to matchwood. “There’s more room in front, Charity,” I said. “Come along!” The compartment was packed, and she came readily. Just as we reached the third coach the whistle went, and I bundled her into a compartment already filled to the brim. She gave me a venomous glance as the train pulled out. And then I looked round for that slightly familiar individual. He was far down the platform by now, but he turned round, saw me, waved his hand, and disappeared. As the train was passing out I happened to catch my reflection in a window glass, and then I knew why he had seemed familiar, for his face was mine! I left the station and took a taxi to Pantham Station. During the hour’s run I was in a state of high excitement. About a mile from the station we were stopped by a policeman. “You can’t go down this road,” he said, “there’s been a smash on the line.” “What train?” I asked anxiously. “The down Folkestone express.” “My God!” I cried. “I had a friend in it!” “Well,” he said, “they’ve got the killed and injured on the side of the embankment, you’d better go down there; anyway, they want help.”