That which made Sir John so uneasy was the abiding knowledge that Jack's wedding-day would dawn in twelve hours. The margin was much too small, through, however, no fault of Sir John's. The West African steamer had been delayed--unaccountably--two days. A third day lost in the Atlantic would have overthrown Sir John Meredith's plan. He had often cut things fine before, but somehow now--not that he was getting old, oh no!--but somehow the suspense was too much for his nerves. He soon became irritated and distrustful. Besides the pain in his back wearied him and interfered with the clear sequence of his thoughts. The owners of the West African steamer had telegraphed that the passengers had left for London in two separate trains. Guy Oscard was not in the first--there was no positive reason why he should be in the second. More depended upon his being in this second express than Sir John cared to contemplate. The course of his peregrinations brought him into the vicinity of an inspector whose attitude betokened respect while his presence raised hope. “Is there any reason to suppose that your train is coming?” he inquired of the official. “Signalled now, my lord,” replied the inspector, touching his cap. “And what does that mean?” uncompromisingly ignorant of technical parlance. “It will be in in one minute, my lord.” Sir John's hand was over his lips as he walked back to the carriage, casting as it were the commander's eye over the field. “When the crowd is round the train you come and look for me,” he said to the footman, who touched his cockaded hat in silence. At that moment the train lumbered in, the engine wearing that inanely self-important air affected by locomotives of the larger build. From all quarters an army of porters besieged the platform, and in a few seconds Sir John was in the centre of an agitated crowd. There was one other calm man on that platform--another man with no parcels, whom no one sought to embrace. His brown face and close-cropped head towered above a sea of agitated bonnets. Sir John, whose walk in life had been through crowds, elbowed his way forward and deliberately walked against Guy Oscard. “D--n it!” he exclaimed, turning round. “Ah--Mr. Oscard--how d'ye do?” “How are you?” replied Guy Oscard, really glad to see him. “You are a good man for a crowd; I think I will follow in your wake,” said Sir John. “A number of people--of the baser sort. Got my carriage here somewhere. Fool of a man looking for me in the wrong place, no doubt. Where are you going? May I offer you a lift? This way. Here, John, take Mr. Oscard's parcels.” He could not have done it better in his keenest day. Guy Oscard was seated in the huge, roomy carriage before he had realised what had happened to him. “Your man will look after your traps, I suppose?” said Sir John, hospitably drawing the fur rug from the opposite seat. “Yes,” replied Guy, “although he is not my man. He is Jack's man, Joseph.”