“Yes, sir,” replied the clerk.

“Do you remember a man coming for a ticket that night who struck you as peculiar?”

“What kind of a man, sir?”

“A foreigner.  Small, dark, and wiry, speaking with an accent something like this,” I said, trying to imitate Kaffar.

“No, sir, I don’t remember such a person.  There were only three passengers that night—­I remember it very well, because my brother was here with me—­and they were all Yorkshire.”

“This midnight train is a stopping train?”

“Yes, sir.  It stops at every station from Leeds.”

“How far is the nearest station in the Leeds direction?”

“Seven miles, sir.  The population is rather thin here, sir.  It gets thicker the closer you get to Leeds.”

“And how far the other way?”

“Only a matter of three miles northward, sir.  There’s a little village there, sir, has sprung up because of Lord ——­’s mansion, sir, and the company has put up a station.”

“And how far is the next station beyond that?”

“A long way, sir.  It’s a junction where some go to catch the night express to Leeds.  It must be eight miles further on.  The train is now due, sir, that goes there.”

“And it stops at the next station?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

I booked immediately for it, and in a few minutes arrived there.  It was, if possible, more quiet than the one from which I had just come; a more dreary place one could not well see.

I soon found the man who had issued tickets on the night I have mentioned.  Did he remember such a passenger as I described?

“Yes, sir,” he said, “I do remember such a chap; partly because he was the only passenger, and partly because he looked so strange.  He looked as if he’d been fightin’, and yet he was quite sober.  He was a funny chap, sir; one as I shudd’n like much to do wi’.”

“And where did he book for?”

“Dingledale Junction, sir.”

“And he would be able to catch a train from there?”

“He would have to wait a quarter of an hour for the express to Leeds,” replied the man.

“And how long will it be before there’s another train to Dingledale Junction?” I asked anxiously.

“Three hours and a half, sir.”

This was an awful blow to me.  To wait all this time at that roadside station was weary work, especially as I could do nothing.  I found, however, that I could hire a horse and trap that would take me there in about two hours.  I therefore closed with this offer, and shortly after drove away.

I felt sure I had made one step forward.  Kaffar was alive.  The blunt Yorkshireman’s description of him tallied exactly with the real appearance of the Egyptian.  Of course I was not sure, but this was strongly in favour of his being alive.  There was something tangible for which to work now, and my heart grew lighter.