He blew out the match, stowed the stub-with the stubs of the first two-in his pocket, and slithered from between the bath chair and bass fiddle case. He'd passed the conductor in the second-class carriage, on his way down the train. The official's nearness had probably interrupted the murderer before he could dump the body out into the night, or perhaps Ernchester was waiting till they were farther from London. Asher left the compartment quickly, dusting his hands on his coat skirts and muttering to himself like a man who has not found what he sought. Nobody in third class gave him a glance.

By the time the train reached Dover, he suspected, the body would be gone. To call attention now to what he had found would only, inevitably, call attention to himself. He wasn't such a fool as to think he would then ever reach Paris alive.

In the dingy second-class compartment where he had left his satchel, a lively family of homebound Parisians had made themselves very much at home. They were passing bread and cheese among themselves; the bonne femme offered him some and a blood orange, while her mari laboriously scanned a battered copy of I'Aurore. Asher thanked her and fished out his own copy of the Times, most of which he had already read on the journey up from Tunbridge Wells, and wondered academically what he was going to tell whoever was in charge of the Paris section these days. It was going to be a long night, he knew. He dared not sleep, lest Farren sense him through his dreams.

2/11/1908-0600 PARIS/GARE DU NORD ERNCHESTER GONE TO PARIS WITH IGNACE KAROLYI AUSTRIAN SIDE STOP FOLLOWED STOP WILL HAND OFF COME BACK TONIGHT JAMES

Ernchester. Lydia Asher laid the thin sheet of yellow paper down on the gilt- inlaid desk before her, heart beating quickly as she identified the name. Gone to Paris with someone from the "Austrian side."