THE INTRUDER

“I’m afraid it must have gone on in the van, sir.”

“Gone on!” Hugh Gifford exclaimed angrily.  “But you had no business to send the train on till all the luggage was put out.”

“The guard told me that all the luggage for Branchester was out,” the porter protested deprecatingly.  “You see, sir, the train was nearly twenty minutes late, and in his hurry to get off he must have overlooked your suit-case.”

“The very thing I wanted most,” the owner returned.  “I say, Kelson,” he went on, addressing a tall, soldierly man who strolled up, “a nice thing has happened; the train has gone off with my evening clothes.”

Kelson whistled.  “Are you sure?”

“Quite.”  Gifford appealed to the porter, who regretfully confirmed the statement.

“That’s awkward to-night,” Kelson commented with a short laugh of annoyance.  “Look here, we’d better interview the station-master, and have your case wired for to the next stop.  I am sorry, old fellow, I kept you talking instead of letting you look after your rattle-traps, but I was so glad to see you again after all this long time.”

“Thanks, my dear Harry, you’ve nothing to blame yourself about.  It was my own fault being so casual.  The nuisance is that if I don’t get the suit-case back in time I shan’t be able to go with you to-night.”

“No,” his friend responded; “that would be a blow.  And it’s going to be a ripping dance.  Dick Morriston, who hunts the hounds, is doing the thing top-hole.  Now let’s see what the worthy and obliging Prior can do for us.”

The station-master was prepared to do everything in his power, but that did not extend to altering the times of the trains or shortening the mileage they had to travel.  He wired for the suit-case to be put out at Medford, the next stop, some forty miles on, and sent back by the next up-train.  “But that,” he explained, “is a slow one and is not due here till 9.47.  However, I’ll send it on directly it arrives, and you should get it by ten o’clock or a few minutes after.  You are staying at the Lion?”

“Yes.”

“Not more than ten or twelve minutes’ drive.  I’ll do my best and there shall be no delay.”

The two men thanked him and walked out to the station yard, where a porter waited with the rest of Gifford’s luggage.

“There is a gentleman here going to the Lion” he said with a rather embarrassed air; “I told him your fly was engaged, sir; but he said perhaps you would let him share it with you.”

Kelson looked black.  “I like the way some people have of taking things for granted.  Cheek, I call it.  He had better wait or walk.”

“The gentleman said he was in a hurry, sir,” the porter observed apologetically.

“No reason why he should squash us up in the fly,” Kelson returned.  “I’ll have a word with the gentleman.  Where is he?”