“Perhaps you can tell me, you see I am strange on this line,” she answered with a perfectly innocent air, “do you happen to know at what time we are due at Lausanne?”

“Not to the minute,” I replied.  “I have a railway guide in my bag, shall I fetch it?”

“No, no, I should not like to give you so much trouble.”

“But it will be no trouble.  Let me fetch my bag.”

I went off in perfect good faith, anxious to oblige so charming a lady.  I had not the slightest suspicion that she was playing with me.  Silly ass that I was, I failed to detect the warning that dropped from her own lips.

When I got back with the Bradshaw I came upon them for just one moment unawares.  The maid must have been making some remarks displeasing to my lady, who was answering her with much asperity.

“I know what I am doing, Philpotts.  Be so good as to leave it to me.  It is the only way.”

Then she caught sight of me as I stood before her, and her manner instantly changed.  She addressed me very sweetly and with the utmost composure.  “Oh, how very good of you, I feel quite ashamed of myself.”

“Why should you?  It is delightful to be of use to you.  Lausanne I think you said?” I asked casually as I turned over the pages of the guide.  “You are going to Lausanne?”

“No, Vevey to Montreux.  I only wanted to know whether there would be time for dejeuner at Lausanne.  I think there is no dining-car on this train?”

“No, it is on the next, which is extraordinarily bad mismanagement.  It is a slow train the next, and we are a special express.  But you will have a clear half-hour to spare at Lausanne.  That will be enough, I presume?  Lausanne at 12 noon, and we go on at half-past.”

“You, too, are going beyond Lausanne?”

“Possibly, I am not quite sure.  It depends upon my meeting friends somewhere on the lake, either there or further on.  If they come on board we shall run on to Brieg so as to drop over the Alps to Lake Maggiore by the Simplon route.”

I threw this out carelessly but with deliberate intention, and the shot told.  A crimson flush came over her face and her hands trembled violently.  I had not the smallest doubt that this was her plan also.  She was bound to cross over into Italy, that we knew, or our employers firmly believed it, and as she had been driven off the St. Gothard by Falfani she had now doubled back by Switzerland to make the journey to Brieg and across the mountains by road.

I had scored as I thought, but I forgot that in gaining the knowledge I had betrayed my own intentions, and put her upon her guard.  I was to pay for this.

“Oh, really,” she said quietly and with polite interest, having entirely recovered her composure.  “I dare say a very pleasant drive.  How long does it take, have you any idea, and how do you travel?”

“It is about nine hours by diligence,” I said, consulting the Bradshaw, “and the fare is forty francs, but by private carriage or extra post a good deal more.”