But hardly had the church clock chimed the hour when the shriek of a whistle was heard from up the valley.

Amid wild excitement a puff of white smoke appeared, then another, and finally the mid-day train steamed serenely into the station.
As it drew up, a mild spectacled face appeared at the window of a first-class carriage, and asked-- "Is this Troy ?" "Yessir--terminus.

Any luggage, sir ?" The mild face got out.

It belonged to the only stranger in the train.
"There is only a black portmanteau," said he.

"Ah, that is it.
I shall want it put in the cloakroom for an hour or two while I go into the town." The stranger gave up his ticket--a single ticket--and stepped outside the station.