I recognized Lady Saffren Waldon's Syrian maid, with the big railway key in her fist that the guard had left with her.

By that time there was a considerable crowd about our car, unable to see much because it stood in the way of the station lamp-light.

She slipped through--to the right--not toward Lady Isobel's compartment, and I lost sight of her behind some men.

I ran after her, but she was gone among the shadows, and although I hunted up and down and in and out I could find her nowhere.
When I returned to our car Brown of Lumbwa was out on the platform with his hair all tousled and a wild eye.

The guard was wiping a bloody nose and everybody was inventing an account of what nobody had seen.
"Scrag him!" advised some expert on etiquette.
"What the hell right has anybody got," demanded Brown with querulous ferocity, "to interfere between me and a lady?
Eh?
Whose compartment was she in?
Me in hers or her in mine?
Eh?
Me.