He would wire to the police from the next station.
Meantime in that clean, bare, chilly place there was only one traveller.

He was a slim young man, with a kit-bag and a gun-case.

His clothes were beautiful, a green Homburg hat, a smart green tweed overcoat, and boots as brightly polished as a horse chestnut.

I caught his profile as he gave up his ticket and to my amazement I recognized it.
The station-master looked askance at me as I presented myself, dilapidated and dishevelled, to the official gaze.

I tried to speak in a tone of authority.
'Who is the man who has just gone out ?' 'Whaur's your ticket ?' 'I had no time to get one at Muirtown, and as you see I have left my luggage behind me.