you an example,” he went on, helping himself to a little more whisky and soda.  “Only yesterday afternoon, on our way up to Liverpool, the train got pulled up somewhere in Derbyshire, and I sat looking out of the window.  It was a dreary neighbourhood, a miserable afternoon, and we happened to be crossing a rather high viaduct.  Down below were some meadows and a canal, and by the side of the canal, a path.  At a certain point—­I should think about half a mile from where the train was standing—­this path went underneath a rude bridge, built of bricks and covered over with turf.  Well, as I sat there I could see two men, both approaching the bridge along the path from opposite directions.  One was tall, dressed in light tweeds, a good-looking fellow—­looked like one of your country squires except that he was a little on the thin side.  The other was a sombre-looking person, dressed in dark clothes, about your height and build, I should say, Mr. Romilly.  Well, they both disappeared under that bridge at the same moment, and I don’t know why, but I leaned forward to see them come out.  The train was there for quite another two minutes, perhaps more.  There wasn’t another soul anywhere in sight, and it was raining as it only can rain in England.”

Mr. Raymond Greene paused.  Every one at the table had been listening intently.  He glanced around at their rapt faces with satisfaction.  He was conscious of the artist’s dramatic touch.  Once more it had not failed him.  He had excited interest.  In Philip Romilly’s eyes there was something even more than interest.  It seemed almost as though he were trying to project his thoughts back and conjure up for himself the very scene which was being described to him.  The young man was certainly in a very delicate state of health, Mr. Greene decided.

“You are keeping us in suspense, sir,” the elderly lady complained, leaning forward in her place.  “Please go on.  What happened when they came out?”

“That,” Mr. Raymond Greene said impressively, “is the point of the story.  The train remained standing there, as I have said, for several minutes—­as many minutes, in fact, as it would have taken them seconds to have traversed that tunnel.  Notwithstanding that, they neither of them appeared again.  I sat there, believe me, with my eyes fastened upon that path, and when the train started I leaned out of the window until we had rounded the curve and we were out of sight, but I never saw either of those two men again.  Now there’s the beginning of a film story for you!  What do you want more than that?  There’s dramatic interest, surprise, an original situation.”

“After all, I suppose the explanation was quite a simple one,” Mr. Busby remarked.  “They were probably acquaintances, and they stayed to have a chat.”

Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head doubtfully.

“All I can say to that is that it was a queer place to choose for a little friendly conversation,” he pronounced.  “They were both tall men—­about the same height, I should say—­and it would have been impossible for them to have even stood upright.”