CHAPTER II
FELLOW-TRAVELLERS
"Look sharp, miss, jump in! Luggage in the rear van."
The porter hoisted her almost bodily up the steps of the railway
carriage, slamming the door behind her, the guard's whistle shrieked, and
an instant later the train started with a jerk that sent Diana staggering
against the seat of the compartment, upon which she finally subsided,
breathless but triumphant.
She had very nearly missed the train. An organised procession of some
kind had been passing through the streets just as she was driving to the
station, and her taxi had been held up for the full ten minutes' grace
which she had allowed herself, the metre fairly ticking its heart out in
impotent rage behind the policeman's uplifted hand.
So it was with a sigh of relief that she found herself at last
comfortably installed in a corner seat of a first-class carriage. She
glanced about her to make sure that she had not mislaid any of her hand
baggage in her frantic haste, and this point being settled to her
satisfaction, she proceeded to take stock of her fellow-traveller, for
there was one other person in the compartment besides herself.
He was sitting in the corner furthest away, his back to the engine,
apparently entirely oblivious of her presence. On his knee rested a
quarto writing-pad, and he appeared so much absorbed in what he was
writing that Diana doubted whether he had even heard the commotion,
occasioned by her sudden entry.
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