The Illustrious Prince | Page 7

ever
since the special left."
"Hamilton Fynes," Euston repeated. "Don't know the name. Where did
he come from?"
"Off the Lusitania, sir."
"But we had a message three hours ago that the Lusitania was not
landing her passengers until tomorrow morning," Euston protested.
"They let our man off in a tug, sir," was the reply.
"It went down the river to fetch him. The guvnor didn't want to give
him a special at this time of night, but he just handed him a note, and
we made things hum up here. He was on his way in half an hour. We
have had to upset the whole of the night traffic to let him through

without a stop."
Such a client was, at any rate, worth meeting. The station-master
brushed his coat, put on his silk hat, and stepped out on to the platform.
CHAPTER III.
AN INCIDENT AND AN ACCIDENT
Smoothly the huge engine came gliding into the station--a dumb, silent
creature now, drawing slowly to a standstill as though exhausted after
its great effort. Through the windows of the saloon the station-master
could see the train attendant bending over this mysterious passenger,
who did not seem, as yet, to have made any preparations for leaving his
place. Mr. Hamilton Fynes was seated at a table covered with papers,
but he was leaning back as though he had been or was still asleep. The
station-master stepped forward, and as he did so the attendant came
hurrying out to the platform, and, pushing back the porters, called to
him by name.
"Mr. Rice," he said, "If you please, sir, will you come this way?"
The station-master acceded at once to the man's request and entered the
saloon. The attendant clutched at his arm nervously. He was a pale,
anaemic-looking little person at any time, but his face just now was
positively ghastly.
"What on earth is the matter with you?" the station-master asked
brusquely.
"There's something wrong with my passenger, sir," the man declared in
a shaking voice. "I can't make him answer me. He won't look up, and I
don't--I don't think he's asleep. An hour ago I took him some whiskey.
He told me not to disturb him again--he had some papers to go
through."
The station-master leaned over the table. The eyes of the man who sat
there were perfectly wide-open, but there was something unnatural in

their fixed stare,--something unnatural, too, in the drawn grayness of
his face.
"This is Euston, sir," the station-master began,--"the terminus--"
Then he broke off in the middle of his sentence. A cold shiver was
creeping through his veins. He, too, began to stare; he felt the color
leaving his own cheeks. With an effort he turned to the attendant.
"Pull down the blinds," he ordered, in a voice which he should never
have recognized as his own. "Quick! Now turn out those porters, and
tell the inspector to stop anyone from coming into the car."
The attendant, who was shaking like a leaf, obeyed. The station-master
turned away and drew a long breath. He himself was conscious of a
sense of nausea, a giddiness which was almost overmastering. This was
a terrible thing to face without a second's warning. He had not the
slightest doubt but that the man who was seated at the table was dead!
At such an hour there were only a few people upon the platform, and
two stalwart station policemen easily kept back the loiterers whose
curiosity had been excited by the arrival of the special. A third took up
his position with his back to the entrance of the saloon, and allowed no
one to enter it till the return of the station-master, who had gone for a
doctor. The little crowd was completely mystified. No one had the
slightest idea of what had happened. The attendant was besieged by
questions, but he was sitting on the step of the car, in the shadow of a
policeman, with his head buried in his hands, and he did not once look
up. Some of the more adventurous tried to peer through the windows at
the lower end of the saloon. Others rushed off to interview the guard. In
a very few minutes, however, the station-master reappeared upon the
scene, accompanied by the doctor. The little crowd stood on one side
and the two men stepped into the car.
The doctor proceeded at once with his examination. Mr. Hamilton
Fynes, this mysterious person who had succeeded, indeed, in making a
record journey, was leaning back in the corner of his seat, his arms
folded, his head drooping a little, but his eyes still fixed in that

unseeing stare. His body yielded itself unnaturally to the touch. For the
main truth the doctor needed scarcely a glance at him.
"Is