Brock scowled darkly, and the trio darted swiftly into the compartment.
He dragged his stiff legs into the dining-car at Stuttgart and shoved them under a table.

The car was quite empty.

As he was staring blankly at the menu, the _conducteur_ from his car hurried in with the word that Madame would not breakfast until nine.

She was still very sleepy.

Would Monsieur Medcroft be good enough to order her coffee and rolls brought to her compartment at that hour?
And would he mind seeing that the maid saw to it that Raggles surely had his biscuit and a walk at the next station?
"Raggles ?" queried Brock, passing his hand over his brow.