said the guard, who, having been at the rear of the train, was unharmed.

“Are you counting me?” I asked. “Because I changed carriages at Sittingbourne.”

“Praise God for that, sir!” he answered. “There’s only one, then — a tall, severe-looking gent — in the first-class compartment.”

Was it joy or sorrow that I felt at the thought of that man buried somewhere in the shapeless mass of wood and iron? It certainly was not unmixed sorrow. On the contrary, I had a distinct feeling of elation at the thought that I was probably rid forever of this haunter of my peace, this menacing and mysterious existence which (if instinctive foreboding was to be trusted) had been about to cross and thwart and blast my own.