“We had better ascertain to whom the consequences would be worse,” he said.  “Featherstone risks a stained name, his relations’ distress, and the loss of friends.  We’ll admit it, but these things can be lived down.  You risk being tried for murder and certainly for a serious robbery.  There’s evidence enough to convict you of a share in the latter.”

“That is so,” Daly agreed with unbroken calm.  “I’m surprised you don’t see that it strengthens my demand.  It’s obvious that you must help me to avoid the trial, or leave me to defend myself by doing as much damage as possible.  There’s no other way.”

Foster thought there was, so to speak, a middle way between the two, but it was hateful to indicate, and while he hesitated the car lurched as the train ran out upon a bridge.  The door swung open and Daly’s face got suddenly hard.  A passenger from another part of the train had entered the car and was looking into the smoking compartment.  It was the man Foster had seen at the hotel.  Next moment Daly was on his feet and springing across the narrow floor turned to Foster with a pistol in his hand.

“Blast you!” he said hoarsely.  “You fixed this.  I thought you were straight!”

Foster understood the situation.  The man in the next car was Hulton’s detective or a police official who had known that Daly was on the train, and feeling sure of him, had resolved to watch them both.  He had probably a companion, and Daly knew the game was up.  The latter’s voice had warned Foster that he was desperate.  Escape was impossible; he meant to fight, and, suspecting Foster of treachery, would shoot him first.  This flashed upon Foster in a second, and as Daly, still facing him, opened the vestibule door, he risked a shot and sprang forward.

He heard the pistol explode and his face felt scorched, but he struck savagely, and something rattled upon the floor.  The pistol had dropped and he was somewhat surprised to feel himself unhurt as he grappled with Daly.  They reeled through the door and fell against the rails of the platform.  Then he got a heavy blow and his grasp slackened.  Somebody ran through the smoking compartment, and while he tried to collect his senses Daly stepped back to the gap in the rails.  Foster was dizzy, but he saw the man’s dark figure against the moonlight.  There was a glimmer of snow in the gloom beneath, and a confused din; the roar of wheels and a rattle from the bridge.  Then Pete sprang across the platform, passing in front of Foster, and when the latter saw the gap again Daly had gone.

Pete leaned against the back of the car, breathing hard and holding a piece of torn silk.

“I was aboot a second ower lang,” he gasped.  “He just stepped back and left this in my han’.”