He was a business man, and there was now something for him to do.
After a rapid farewell to the bagman, he found a porter and hustled his box out of the van in the direction of the left-luggage office.

Spies, summoned by Dobson's telegram, were, he was convinced, watching his every movement, and he meant to see that they missed nothing.

He received his ticket for the box, and slowly and ostentatiously stowed it away in his pack.

Swinging the said pack on his arm, he sauntered through the entrance hall to the row of waiting taxi-cabs, and selected the oldest and most doddering driver.

He deposited the pack inside on the seat, and then stood still as if struck with a sudden thought.
"I breakfasted terrible early," he told the driver.