Had he--I asked myself with interest--resisted his wife to the very last minute and then bolted up the road from the last conclusive argument, as though it had been a loaded gun suddenly produced?
I opened the carriage door, and a vigorous porter shoved him in from behind just as the end of the rustic platform went gliding swiftly from under his feet.

He was very much out of breath, and I waited with some curiosity for the moment he would recover his power of speech.

That moment came.

He said "Good morning" with a slight gasp, remained very still for another minute and then pulled out of his pocket the travelling chessboard, and holding it in his hand, directed at me a glance of inquiry.
"Yes.

Certainly," I said, very much disappointed..