The Passenger from Calais by Arthur Griffiths (i have read the book txt) 📕

"I owe you no explanations," I replied stiffly, "my duty is to my employers. I only account to them for my conduct. I am a confidential agent."

He seemed impressed by this, for when he spoke again it was more quietly. But he looked me very straight in the eyes. I felt that he was still likely to give trouble.

"Well, I suppose I cannot expect you to tell me things. You must go your own way and I shall go mine."

"I should advise you to leave it, Colonel," I said, civilly enough. "I'm always anxious to conciliate and avoid unpleasantness. Give up the whole business; you will only burn your fingers."

"Ah! How so?"

"The law is altogether against you. It is a nasty job; better not be mixed up in it. Have you any idea what that woman—that lady," I corrected myself, for his eyes flashed, "has done?"

"Nothing really wrong," he was warming up into a new burst of passion.

"Tell that to the Courts and to the Judge [76] when you are prosecuted for contempt and charged as an accessory after the fact. How will you like that? It will take the starch out of you."

"Rot! The law can't do us much harm. The only person who might make it disagreeable is Lord Blackadder, and I snap my fingers at him."

"The Earl of Blackadder? Are you mad? He is a great personage, a rich and powerful nobleman. You cannot afford to fight him; he will be too strong for you. He has been made the victim of an abominable outrage, and will spare no effort, no means, no money to recover his own."

"Lord Blackadder is a cad—a cruel, cowardly ruffian. I know all about him and what has happened. It would give me the greatest pleasure to kick him down the street. Failing that, I shall do my best to upset and spoil his schemes, and so you know."

I smiled contemptuously. "A mere Colonel against an Earl! What sort of a chance have you? It's too absurd."

"We shall see. Those laugh longest who laugh last."

By this time our talk was done, for we were [77] approaching Lucerne, and I began to think over my next plans. All must depend on what I heard there—upon what news, if any, came from Ludovic Tiler.

So on my arrival I made my way straight to the telegraph-office in the corner of the great station, and on showing my card an envelope was handed to me. It was from Tiler at Basle, and ran as follows:

"They have booked through by 7.30 a.m., via Brienne, Lausanne to Brieg, and I suppose the Simplon. I shall accompany. Can you join me at either end—Brieg or Domo Dossola? The sooner the better. Wire me from all places along the route, giving your movements. Address me in my train No. 70."

The news pointed pretty clearly to the passage of the Alps and descent into Italy by another route than the St. Gothard. I had my Bradshaw in my bag, and proceeded at once to verify the itinerary by the time-table, while I drank my early coffee in the restaurant upon the station platform. I was most anxious to join hands with Tiler, and quickly turned over the leaves of my railway guide to see if it was possible, and how it might best be managed.

My first idea was to retrace my steps to [78] Basle and follow him by the same road. But I soon found that the trains would not fit in the very least. He would be travelling by the one fast train in the day, which was due at Brieg at four o'clock in the afternoon. My first chance, if I caught the very next train back from Lucerne, would only get me to Brieg by the eleven o'clock the following morning.

It was not good enough, and I dismissed the idea forthwith. Then I remembered that by getting off the St. Gothard railway at Goeschenen I should strike the old Furka diligence route by the Devil's Bridge, Hospenthal, and the Rhone Glacier, a drive of fifty miles, more or less, but at least it would get me to Brieg that same night by 10 or 11 o'clock.

Before adopting this line I had to consider that there was a risk of missing Tiler and his quarry; that is to say, of being too late for them; for the lady might decide to push on directly she reached Brieg, taking a special carriage extra post as far as the Simplon at least, even into Domo Dossola. She was presumably in such a hurry that the night journey would hardly deter her from driving over the pass. Tiler would certainly follow. By [79] the time I reached Brieg they would be halfway across the Alps, and I must take the same road, making a stern chase, proverbially the longest.

I turned my attention, therefore, to the Italian end of the carriage road, and to seeing how and when I could reach Domo Dossola, the alternative suggestion made by Tiler. There would be no difficulty as to that, and I found I could be there in good time the same evening. I worked it out on the tables and it looked easy enough.

Leave Lucerne by the St. Gothard railway, pass Goeschenen, and go through the tunnel down the Italian side as far as Bellizona. Thence a branch line would take me to Locarno and into touch with the steamboat service on Lake Maggiore. There was a fixed connection according to the tables, and I should land at Pallanza within a short hour's drive of the line to Domo Dossola. I could be established there by nightfall and would command the situation. Every carriage that came down the Simplon must come under my eye.

There could be no doubt that the Bellizona-Locarno Lake line was the preferable one, and I finally decided in favour of it. I closed my [80] Bradshaw with a bang, replaced it in my bag, drank up my coffee, and started for the telegraph office. I meant to advise Tiler of my plans, and at the same time arrange with him to look out for me just outside the terminus station at Domo Dossola, or to communicate with me there at the Hôtel de la Poste.

On coming out I ran up against the last person I wished to see. It was the Colonel, who greeted me with a loud laugh, and gave me a slap on the back.

"Halloa, my wily detective," he said mockingly; "settled it all quite to your satisfaction? Done with Bradshaw—sent off your wires? Well, what's the next move?"

"I decline to hold any conversation with you," I began severely. "I beg you will not intrude upon my privacy. I do not desire your acquaintance."

"Hoity toity!" he cried. "On your high horse, eh? Aren't you afraid you may fall off or get knocked off?" and he raised his hand with an ugly gesture.

"We are not alone now in a railway carriage. There are police about, and the Swiss police do not approve of brawling," I replied, with all the dignity I could assume.

[81]

"Come, Falfani, tell me what you mean to do now," he went on in the same tone.

"Your questions are an impertinence. I do not know you. I do not choose to know you, and I beg you will leave me alone."

"Don't think of it, my fine fellow. I'm not going to leave you alone. You may make up your mind to that. Where you go, I go; what you do, I shall do. We are inseparables, you and I, as much united as the Siamese twins. So I tell you."

"But it's monstrous, it's not to be tolerated. I shall appeal for protection to the authorities."

"Do so, my friend, do so. See which will get the best of that. I don't want to swagger, but at any rate all the world knows pretty well who I am; but what shall you call yourself, Mr. Falfani?"

"I have my credentials from my employers; I have letters, testimonials, recommendations from the best people."

"Including the Earl of Blackadder, I presume? I admit your great advantages. Well, try it. You may get the best of it in the long run, but you'll lose a good deal of time. I'm not in a hurry," he said with emphasis, and [82] promptly recalled me to my senses, for I realized that I could not fight him that way. It must be by stratagem or evasion. I must throw dust in his eyes, put him off the scent, mislead, befool, elude him somehow.

How was I to shake him off now I saw that he was determined to stick to me? He had said it in so many words. He would not let me out of his sight; wherever I went he was coming too.

The time was drawing on for the departure of the St. Gothard express at 9.8 a.m., and as yet I had no ticket. I had booked at Amiens as far as Lucerne only, leaving further plans as events might fall out. Now I desired to go on, but did not see how I was to take a fresh ticket without his learning my destination. He would be certain to be within earshot when I went up to the window.

I was beginning to despair when I saw Cook's man, who was, as usual, hovering about to assist travellers in trouble, and I beckoned him to approach.

"See that gentleman," I nodded towards the Colonel. "He wants you; do your best for him." And when the tourist agent proceeded on his mission to be accosted, I fear [83] rather unceremoniously, I slipped off and hid out of sight.

I felt sure I was unobserved as I took my place in the crowd at the ticket-window, but when I had asked and paid for my place to Locarno I heard, to my disgust, some one else applying for a ticket to exactly the same place, and in a voice that was strangely familiar.

On looking round I saw Jules l'Echelle, the sleeping-car conductor, but out of uniform, and with an amused grin on his face.

"It seems that we are still to be fellow travellers," he observed casually.

"What is taking you to Lake Maggiore? How about your service on the car?" I asked suspiciously.

"I have business at Locarno, and have got a few days' leave to attend to it."

I felt he was lying to me. He had been bought, I was sure. His business was the Colonel's, who had set him to assist in watching me. I had two enemies then to encounter, and I realized with some misgiving that the Colonel was not a man to be despised.

[84]

I secured a place with difficulty; there was rather a rush for the St. Gothard express when it ran in. It was composed as usual of corridor carriages, all classes en suite, and I knew that it would be impossible to conceal the fact that I was on board the train. Within five minutes Jules had verified the fact and taken seats in the immediate neighbourhood, to which he and the Colonel presently came.

"Quite a pleasant little party!" he said in a bantering tone. "All bound for Locarno, eh? Ever been to Locarno before, Mr. Falfani? Delightful lake, Maggiore. Many excursions, especially by steamer; the Borromean islands well worth seeing, and Baveno and Stresa and the road to the Simplon."

I refused to be drawn, and only muttered that I hated excursions and steamers and lakes, and wished to be left in peace.

"A little out of sorts, I'm afraid, Mr. Falfani. Sad that. Too many emotions, want of [85] sleep, perhaps. You would do too much last night." He still kept up his hateful babble, and Jules maddened me by his sniggering enjoyment of my discomfiture.

More than ever did I set my brain to puzzle out some way of escaping this horrible infliction. Was it not possible to give them the slip, somehow, somewhere? I took the Colonel's hint, and pretended to take refuge in sleep, and at last, I believe, I dozed off. It must have been in my dreams that an idea came to me, a simple idea, easy of execution with luck and determination.

It was suggested to me by the short tunnels that succeed so frequently in the ascent of the St. Gothard Alps. They are, as most people know, a chief feature in the mountain railway, and a marvel of engineering skill, being cut in circles to give the necessary length and gain the height with