“Why do you ask that?” said the tall man quickly.

“I noticed you looking at us and wondered what were your thoughts. Do you think us queer cattle?”

In order not to disturb Susan Max and to make himself heard above the racket of the train, he bent forward. So did the tall man. With their heads together under the murky lamp, they looked like conspirators.

“That would be an ungracious thought,” said the tall man, “after your kindness.”

“Our kindness? Oh, you mean George Mason’s offer of a seat in our carriage?”

“Yes. The alternative was a back-to-the-engine pew by a swinging door, among commercial travellers, and next to a lavatory.”

Hambledon laughed silently.

“Ah well,” he said, “even queer cattle may be preferable to all that.”

“But I didn’t say I thought—”

“If you had it would not have been very strange. Actors are a rum lot.”

“The last man I heard say that was an actor—and a murderer,” said the tall man.

“Really?” Hambledon raised his head. “You don’t by any chance mean Felix Gardener?”

“I do. How did you guess—?”

“Now I know who you are. Of course! How stupid of me! I have seen your photograph any number of times in the papers. It’s been worrying me.”

His companion looked at Susan Max. Her three chins were packed snugly down into her collar and her eyes were closed. Her whole person jogged rhythmically with the motion of the train.

“She knew me,” he said, “but I asked her not to give me away. I’m on a holiday.”

“I should have guessed from your name, of course. How inadequate one’s memory is. And without your—your rank—”

“Exactly. They spelt me wrongly in the passenger list.”

“Well, this is very interesting. I shan’t give you away.”

“Thank you. And at any rate we part company in Middleton. I’m staying for a few nights to see your show and look round, and then I go on to the South Island.”

“We may meet again,” said Hambledon.

“I hope so,” said his companion cordially.

They smiled tentatively at each other, and after an uncertain pause leant back again in their seats.