He had strolled almost to the barrier and was in the act of turning back when something—­some impulse for which he could never afterwards account—­induced him to pause and take stock of the passengers passing through.  The train was almost due to start, and there was some slight confusion and a quickening of feet on the platform.  He realized that he ought to be going back to his own carriage, but something stayed him.  He stood still, his keen eyes searching the hastening figures.

And so standing, in a moment his attention was focussed upon a girl in a blue cloak who came towards him at a run evidently intent upon catching the train.  She passed him swiftly without seeing him, almost brushed against him.  And behind her came a dark man with black moustache and imperial, following her closely with an air of proprietorship.

Jake wheeled in his tracks, for a second amazed out of all composure.  But an instant later he was in pursuit.  He had had but a fleeting glimpse of her face, and the blue cloak was quite unfamiliar to him; but there was no mistaking the boyish freedom of her gait, the athletic swing of her as she turned and leaped into a compartment that her companion opened for her.

The black-browed Italian was in the act of following when Jake arrived.  The realization of another hand upon the door was the first intimation that reached him of the Englishman’s presence.  He turned and looked into a pair of red-brown eyes that regarded him with the utmost steadiness as a quiet voice made slightly drawling explanation.

“This lady is a friend of mine,” said Jake Bolton.  “I should like a word with her.”

The Italian looked murderous for a moment, but he gave ground almost in spite of himself.  Perhaps the calm insistence of the other man’s bearing warned him at the outset of the futility of attempting any other course of action; Jake was actually in the carriage before he could jerk out a word of protest.

“Sapristi! You go too far!” he blustered then.  But Jake was already confronting the girl who had started up at his coming, and stood facing him white and shaken.  He spoke, still quite quietly, even gently, but in the tone that no delinquent ever heard unmoved.

“Say,” he said, “are you playing the game?”

She put up a hand to her throat.  His sudden coming had unnerved her, and she had no words.  But her quivering face and tragic eyes were more than sufficient answer for Jake.  He had dealt with sudden emergencies before, and he treated this one with characteristic decision.

“You’ve no business here,” he said, “and you know it.  If you can’t stick to the man you’ve married, come home with me to Maud!”

She made a sharp gesture toward him, as if on the verge of falling, and as sharply recovered herself.  “Oh, I wish—­how I wish I could!” she breathed.

Jake’s hand, perfectly steady, full of sustaining strength, closed with authority upon her arm.  “That’s settled then,” he said.  “Come now!”