Someone, it was clear, had tried to work mischief between
Diana and me, and there were only too many chances that he had
succeeded. Could it be Bob West, I asked myself, as I half-dazedly
looked for a place to sit down among the litter of small luggage with
which the first occupant of the carriage had strewn every seat. I knew
that Bob was as much in love with Di as a man of his rather
unintellectual, unimaginative type could be, and he hadn't shown himself
as friendly lately to me as he once had: still, I didn't think he was
the sort of fellow to trip up a rival in the race by a trick, even if he
could possibly have found out that I was going to Paris this morning.
"Won't you sit here, sir?" a voice broke into my thoughts, and I saw
that the little man had cleared a place for me next his own, which was
in a corner facing the engine. Thanking him absent-mindedly, I sat down,
and began to observe my travelling companions for the first time.
So far, their faces had been mere blurs for me: but now it struck me
that all three were rather peculiar; that is, peculiar when seen in a
first-class carriage.
The man who had reserved the compartment for himself, and who had
removed a bundle of golf sticks from the seat to make room for me, did
not look like a typical golfer, nor did he appear at all the sort of
person who might be expected to reserve a whole compartment for himself.
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