It was impossible to say who was there and who was not.

McCrane might be there or he might not.

What was the use of my-- "Step inside if you're going," shouted a guard.
I saw a porter near the booking-office door advance towards the bell.
At the same moment I saw, or fancied I saw, at the window of a third- class carriage a certain pale face appear momentarily, and, with an anxious glance up at the clock, vanish again inside.
"Wait a second," I cried to the guard, "till I get a ticket." "Not time now," I heard him say, as I dashed into the booking-office.
The clerk was shutting the window.
"Third single--anywhere--Fleetwood!" I shouted, flinging down a couple of sovereigns.
I was vaguely aware of seizing the ticket, of hearing some one call after me something about "change," of a whistle, the waving of a flag, and a shout, "Stand away from the train." Next moment I was sprawling on all fours on the knees of a carriage full of passengers; and before I had time to look up the 1:30 train was outside Euston station.
It took me some time to recover from the perturbation of the start, and still longer to overcome the bad impression which my entry had made on my fellow-passengers.
Indeed I was made distinctly uncomfortable by the attitude which two, at any rate, of these persons took up.

One was a young man of the type which I usually connect with detectives.

The other was a rollicking commercial traveller.
"You managed to do it, then ?" said the latter to me when finally I had shaken myself together and found a seat.
"Yes, just," said I.
The other man looked hard at me from behind a newspaper.
"Best to cut your sort of job fine," continued the commercial, knowingly.