“It smells like the inside of a flower shop,” said Hambledon. “Moss, and cold wet earth, and something else. Are we very high up in the world, I wonder?”

“I think we must be. To me it smells like mountain air.”

“What about this coffee?”

They got two steaming china baths from the refreshment counter and took them out on to the platform.

“Hailey! Hailey!”

The window of one of the sleepers had been opened and through it appeared a head.

“Carolyn!” Hambledon walked swiftly to the window. “Haven’t you settled down yet? It’s after half-past two, do you know that?”

The murky lights from the station shone on that face, finding out the hollows round the eyes and under the cheek bones. The tall man had never been able to make up his mind about Carolyn Dacres’s face. Was it beautiful? Was it faded? Was she as intelligent as her face seemed to promise? As he watched her he realised that she was agitated about something. She spoke quickly, and in an undertone. Hambledon stared at her in surprise and then said something. They both looked for a moment at the tall man. She seemed to hesitate.

“Stand clear, please.”

A bell jangled. He mounted the platform of his carriage where Courtney Broadhead still stood hunched up in his overcoat. The train gave one of those preparatory backward clanks. Hambledon, still carrying his cup, hurriedly mounted the far platform of the sleeper. They were drawn out of the station into the night. Courtney Broadhead, after a sidelong glance at the tall man, said something inaudible and returned to the carriage. The tall man remained outside. The stern of the sleeping-carriage in front swayed and wagged, and the little iron bridge that connected the two platforms jerked backwards and forwards. Presently Hambledon came out of the sleeper and, holding to the iron rails, made towards him over the bridge. As soon as they were together he began to shout: