Charles found himself conjecturing how the man would set about carrying out his task of public watchdog, if that was in his mind.  He pictured the possibility of him appealing to the others in the compartment.  He might get up and say:  “There is a murderer in this compartment.  I recognize him from the description in this paper, and I call upon you all as public-spirited citizens to see that he does not escape justice.”  The torpid passengers would start up, staring and looking foolish after the fashion of English people when asked to do something unusual.  Would they help?  There was a stout man opposite with the symptoms of a public spirit lurking in the creases of his fat self-satisfied face.  Charles promised himself that he would give them a fight for it.  He counted his chances.  He was aware from his previous journey to Charleswood that the train he was in now ran through to Charing Cross without another stop.  Perhaps the man in the corner seat would wait until they arrived there, and then give him in charge.  That was a disconcerting possibility, but he could see no way of guarding against it unless he chose to drop from the train, now travelling at nearly forty miles an hour, taking the risk of being maimed or killed.  He considered the advisability of that.  It was a chance he might have taken casually enough on his own account, but he had also to think of Sisily.  She would be quite friendless if he were killed.  Besides, there was also the chance that he might be mistaken in interpreting the man’s intentions by his own fears.  At all events he seemed to have no thought of springing up and denouncing him.  Charles decided to wait and trust to luck to escape in the crowd at Charing Cross if the man made any move there.

In ten minutes the train was running into Charing Cross station at slowing speed.  Charles’s mouth closed tightly, and his face flushed.

The man in the corner seat flattened his newspaper into a pocket, opened the carriage door, and sprang out on to the platform.  Charles followed him quickly, and stood still watching him make his way towards the barrier.  He saw him press through, give up his ticket, and disappear without so much as a backward glance.

There was something so ridiculous in this anticlimax to his poignant fears that the young man was for the moment actually exasperated.  But his face and linen were wet with perspiration.  Then a great feeling of relief swept over him like a cooling wave.  He followed in the wake of the other passengers and emerged from the station into the street.

It was early enough for the shops to be still open, but the streets were thronged with pleasure-seekers going to restaurants and places of amusement.  As he stood there a painted girl touched him on the arm with an enticing smile for such wares as she had to sell, and her solicitation awakened him sharply to the folly of standing in the lighted Strand at that hour in full view of every passing policeman.