They turned aside to discuss Lady Ogram, and did so in such detail, with so much mutual satisfaction, that time slipped on insensibly, and, ere they had thought of parting, the train began to slacken down for the junction where Miss Tomalin would have to change carriages.

“How annoying that I shan’t be able to see you again!” cried Lashmar.

“But shan’t you be coming to Rivenoak?”

“Not for some time, very likely.  And when I do—­” The train stopped.  Dyce helped his companion to alight, and moved along to seek for a place for her in the section which went to Hollingford.  Suddenly an alarmed voice from one of the carriage-doors shouted “Guard!  Station-master!” People turned in that direction; porters ran; evidently, something serious had happened.

“What’s the matter?” asked May, at her companion’s side.

“Somebody taken ill, I think,” said Dyce, moving towards the door whence the shout had sounded.

He caught a glimpse of a man who had sunk upon the floor of the carriage, and was just being lifted onto the seat by other passengers.  Pressing nearer, he saw a face hideously congested, with horrible starting eyes.  He drew back, and whispered to May: 

“It’s Robb!  Didn’t I tell you that he looked apoplectic.”

The girl shrank in fear.

“Are you sure?”

“Perfectly.  Stand here a minute, and I’ll ask how it happened.”

From the talk going on he quickly learnt that Mr. Robb, complaining that he felt faint, had risen, just as the train drew into the station, to open the door and descend.  Before anyone could help him, he dropped, and his fellow-travellers shouted.  Dyce and May watched the conveyance of the obese figure across the platform to a waiting-room.

“I must know the end of this,” said Lashmar, his eyes gleaming.

“You wouldn’t have gone further, should you?”

“I suppose not—­though I had still a great deal to tell you.  Quick!  We must get your place.”

“I could stop for the next train,” suggested May.

“Better not, I think.  The carriage will be waiting for you at Hollingford.  No, better not.  I have another idea.”

They found a seat.  Dyce threw in the dressing-bag, and alighted again.

“There’s still a minute or two,” he said, keeping May beside him on the platform.  “This affair may be tremendously important for me, you know.”

“It would mean an election at once,” said the girl, excitedly.

“Of course.”  He approached his face to hers, and added in low, rapid tones, “You know the park gate into the Wapham Road?”

“Yes.”

“You have a key.  Could you be there at eight tomorrow morning?  If it’s fine, take your bicycle, as if you were going for a spin before breakfast.  Miss Bride never goes out before breakfast, and no one else is likely to pass that way.”

“You mean you would be there?”