On the
contrary, they were stern and set, like the features of one bent upon
some terrible endeavour. Going to a drawer, he unlocked it and took
from it a Colt's revolver of the small pattern. It was loaded, but he
extracted the cartridges and replaced them with fresh ones from a tin
box. Then he went downstairs, put on a large ulster with a high
collar, and a soft felt hat, the brim of which he turned down over his
face, placed the pistol in the pocket of his ulster, and started.
It was a dreadful night, the wind was blowing a heavy gale, and
between the gusts the rain came down in sheets of driving spray.
Nobody was about the streets--the weather was far too bad; and Mr.
Quest reached the station without meeting a living soul. Outside the
circle of light from a lamp over the doorway he paused, and looked
about for the clerk Jones. Presently, he saw him walking backwards and
forwards under the shelter of a lean-to, and going up, touched him on
the shoulder.
The man started back.
"Have you got the ticket, Jones?" he asked.
"Lord, sir," said Jones, "I didn't know you in that get-up. Yes, here
it is."
"Is the woman there still?"
"Yes, sir; she's taken a ticket, third-class, to town. She has been
going on like a wild thing because they would not give her any liquor
at the refreshment bar, till at last she frightened them into letting
her have six of brandy.
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