I tried to walk ahead of him. He took my arm and steered me across the station toward one of the platforms. I really didn’t want to make a fuss amid all these people but I was going to clobber his straw boater if he kept this up.

Smoke swirled upward, then parted, revealing the destination board.

“Wait a second,” I said. “This isn’t the platform for the train to Atlantic City.”

“No more it is,” the man said, his grip on my arm tightening.

“Let go of me. What are you playing at?” I demanded. “Do you want me to scream for help?”

That’s when I noticed that a man had come up on the other side of me. I felt something dig into my side.

“I wouldn’t scream if I were you,” the second man said in a low voice. “There is a knife in my hand. I can slip it in between your ribs and you’ll be dead before you know it. Much less noisy than a gun. Now be a sensible girl and you’ll not get hurt.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“You’ll soon find out.” A train was already standing at the platform, puffing out steam as if impatient to be on its way. Down the platform they bore me, past families waving good-bye, porters wheeling trolleys of luggage. I couldn’t believe what was happening. A small voice in my head was saying, “You’re being kidnapped,” but it seemed too absurd to be true. My brain started racing, trying to think how I could escape from them. If I gave the one with the stiletto a hefty push and started screaming, would I have a chance to run before he could stab me? I could feel the prick of sharp steel against my skin so I knew his threat was not idle.

Before I had time to contemplate any longer the first man opened a carriage door. “In you get,” he said.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll soon find out. Now sit down and shut up.”

He pushed me into the seat and sat on one side of me. The man with the knife had slid into place on the other side. I noticed that the compartment said RESERVED and that there was no corridor. The first man immediately pulled down the blinds. I glanced up at the emergency cord. If I caught them off guard, I could leap up and pull on it, but then they’d have killed me before the train came to a halt and the conductor found my carriage. I looked from one to the other, trying to decide who they were and what they wanted of me. They certainly didn’t look like the criminal classes. Nor did they look like entertainers. More like—more like the young man who had lain dead in the trunk. Bank clerks, shop assistants, respectable wage earners.