By noontime the train rolled into Detroit and he began to feel exceedingly nervous.  The police must be on his track by now.  They had probably notified all the police of the big cities, and detectives would be watching for him.  He remembered instances in which defaulters had been captured.  Consequently, he breathed heavily and paled somewhat.  His hands felt as if they must have something to do.  He simulated interest in several scenes without which he did not feel.  He repeatedly beat his foot upon the floor.

Carrie noticed his agitation, but said nothing.  She had no idea what it meant or that it was important.

He wondered now why he had not asked whether this train went on through to Montreal or some Canadian point.  Perhaps he could have saved time.  He jumped up and sought the conductor.

“Does any part of this train go to Montreal?” he asked.

“Yes, the next sleeper back does.”

He would have asked more, but it did not seem wise, so he decided to inquire at the depot.

The train rolled into the yards, clanging and puffing.

“I think we had better go right on through to Montreal,” he said to Carrie.  “I’ll see what the connections are when we get off.”

He was exceedingly nervous, but did his best to put on a calm exterior.  Carrie only looked at him with large, troubled eyes.  She was drifting mentally, unable to say to herself what to do.

The train stopped and Hurstwood led the way out.  He looked warily around him, pretending to look after Carrie.  Seeing nothing that indicated studied observation, he made his way to the ticket office.

“The next train for Montreal leaves when?” he asked.

“In twenty minutes,” said the man.

He bought two tickets and Pullman berths.  Then he hastened back to Carrie.

“We go right out again,” he said, scarcely noticing that Carrie looked tired and weary.

“I wish I was out of all this,” she exclaimed gloomily.

“You’ll feel better when we reach Montreal,” he said.

“I haven’t an earthly thing with me,” said Carrie; “not even a handkerchief.”

“You can buy all you want as soon as you get there, dearest,” he explained.  “You can call in a dressmaker.”

Now the crier called the train ready and they got on.  Hurstwood breathed a sigh of relief as it started.  There was a short run to the river, and there they were ferried over.  They had barely pulled the train off the ferry-boat when he settled back with a sigh.

“It won’t be so very long now,” he said, remembering her in his relief.  “We get there the first thing in the morning.”

Carrie scarcely deigned to reply.

“I’ll see if there is a dining-car,” he added.  “I’m hungry.”

Chapter XXIX THE SOLACE OF TRAVEL—­THE BOATS OF THE SEA