"Perhaps it would be better, Mr Kemball, if you went into the next
compartment while we are stopping. We must not appear to have knowledge
of each other."
Scarcely had I time to enter the adjoining compartment when the train
pulled up. I lit a cigarette, and sat gazing lazily out of the window,
when, sure enough, the man in the straw hat who had travelled in the
rear of the train strolled aimlessly along, and as he passed the
compartment occupied by Dawnay glanced in to satisfy himself that he was
still there.
The wait was long, for the corridor coaches from Torquay for London were
being joined on. But at last we moved off again, and as soon as we did
so I returned to the mysterious fugitive.
"Tell me, Mr Dawnay, something concerning Mr Arnold," I urged
earnestly, without preamble. "He did me the honour of entrusting me
with certain purely personal matters, but gave me no information as to
who or what he was."
"Melvill Arnold was a most remarkable person," declared the man in the
red tie. "He divided his time between life in London and exploring the
remains of the extinct civilisation in Egypt."
"Then he lived in Egypt?"
"Mostly in the deserts. His knowledge of Egyptology was, perhaps,
unequalled. The last letter I received from him was from El Fasher, in
Darfur."
"Arnold was not his real name?"
"Not exactly his baptismal one," laughed Dawnay, lightly. "It would
hardly have suited him to use that!"
"What was it? Is there any reason why I should not know?"
"Yes. I am scarcely likely to betray my dead friend, Mr Kemball."
I was silent beneath his stern rebuke. At one moment I felt repulsion
when I gazed upon his pimply face, yet at the next I experienced a
curious sense of fascination. The mystery of it all had become most
tantalising. Thought of the bronze cylinder and what it might contain
flashed across my mind, whereupon I asked whether Arnold had had any
permanent address in London.
"No. I usually wrote to him to the Poste Restante at Charing Cross. He
was an elusive man always, and when in London--which was on very rare
occasions--seemed to change his abode each day. He boasted that he
never slept two nights running in the same bed. He had reasons for
that--the same reasons, truth to tell, that I had."
"He feared the police--eh?"
Dawnay's fat face relaxed again into a grim smile. "But now that Arnold
is dead I have to secure my own safety," he exclaimed quickly. "I'm in
an infernal trap here in this train. I may be arrested when I step out
of it--who knows?"
"And would arrest entail serious consequences?" I asked slowly, my eyes
fixed upon his.
"Yes, very serious consequences. For myself I don't care very much, but
for another--a woman--it would, alas! be fatal," he added hoarsely.
A woman! Did he refer to that remarkable adventuress, details of whose
strange career I had read in that old copy of the newspaper?
I remembered that Arnold, in his letter to me, had appealed to me to
assist this man--who was evidently his very intimate friend.
"You must evade this person who is watching," I said. "How can it be
done?"
He shrugged his shoulders with an expression indicative of bewilderment.
A sudden thought occurred to me.
"You and I are about the same build. Could we not exchange clothes?" I
suggested. "At Exeter, you could walk up to the front of the train and
escape away, and out of the station, while I will still sit here, my
back turned towards the window. The detective will believe you to be
still in the train."
"Capital!" he cried, starting up. "A splendid plan, Mr Kemball! By
Jove! you are resourceful!" And he began quickly divesting himself of
coat and trousers. "This train is express to Exeter, therefore we shall
not stop at either Teignmouth or Dawlish." I threw off my coat, vest,
cravat, and trousers, and in five minutes had exchanged my garments for
his, and had assumed the scarlet tie in place of my own, while he, on
his part, got into my suit, which, however, seemed slightly tight for
him. He laughed heartily as we stood regarding each other so quickly
transformed.
I assumed the grey suede gloves, slightly large for me, tilted the smart
grey hat a little over my eyes, and then ensconced myself against the
corridor, so that my back only could be visible when the train drew up
at St David's Station in Exeter.
Dawnay went out into the corridor to observe the effect critically.
"Capital!" he cried. "Capital! Won't the fellow be done in the eye!"
"Yes," I laughed; "it will be really amusing to watch his face when he
comes to arrest me."
"But he may not come until you get to Paddington--after midnight. And
what excuse shall you make for changing clothes with me?"
"Oh, don't bother about that," I said, rather enjoying the prospect of a
joke, but little dreaming of the serious predicament in which I was
placing myself. "Where shall I meet you again?"
"Ah! Be careful--be very careful, Mr Kemball. You will no doubt be
watched. They will suspect you of an intention to meet me again in
secret, and for that reason will keep strict surveillance upon you. Use
the name Hamilton Davis, and write to me at the Poste Restante at
Charing Cross. That is as safe as anywhere. I shall be in London; but
I must be off now, and the moment the train stops I shall be out and
away. There's sure to be a crowd upon Exeter platform. Ah! You can't
tell what a great service you have rendered me in assuming my identity
this evening--you have saved me. Good-bye--and a thousand thanks."
Then, with a wave of his hand and a merry smile, the elusive person--for
such he no doubt was--went forth into the corridor and disappeared.
I took up my previous position, so that when the train ran into Exeter I
was seated with my back to the window, one leg upon the cushion, lazily
reading a newspaper which I had found in Dawnay's pocket.
Much bustle was going on outside on the platform, and I knew that the
police-officer had passed in order to reassure himself that I had not
escaped. For perhaps ten minutes I sat there in lazy indolence, until
at last the train moved off again, and once more I was free from
observation.
I could not for the life of me discern why the man had feared to be seen
in my company. Arnold must have somehow foreseen that his friend would
be watched, and had therefore prearranged the sign of the gloves.
Perhaps he had expected that another enemy, not the police, would be
watching. Yet even there, in the train, Dawnay had expressed fear lest
we be observed together. It was a point the full meaning of which I
failed to grasp.
At Taunton we stopped again, and I assumed my attitude just as before,
with my back to the window, when of a sudden the carriage door was flung
open unceremoniously, and a man's voice exclaimed--
"Alfred Dawnay, I am a police-officer and I hold a warrant for your
arrest!"
I roused myself slowly and, facing the man who had addressed me,
remarked in a cool voice--
"I think you've made a slight mistake--eh? My name is not Dawnay."
The man in the straw hat uttered an ejaculation of surprise and stood
staring at me dumbfounded, while a man at his side, evidently one of the
Taunton police in plain clothes, looked at us both in wonder.
"If you are not Dawnay, then where is Dawnay?" demanded the detective
quickly.
"How do I know?"
"But you are wearing his clothes! You assisted him to escape, therefore
you will have to make some explanation."
"I have no explanation to offer," I said. "If you want Dawnay you'd
better go and look for him. You have no warrant to arrest me merely
because I happen to be wearing clothes resembling Dawnay's."
"Perhaps not, my dear sir," replied the detective, greatly annoyed at
being thus outwitted. "But I tell you it will be better for you to be
quite frank and outspoken with us. When did Dawnay leave this train--
tell me?"
"I don't know," I replied, which was really the truth. And the chagrin
of the two police-officers was now fully apparent.
"But you've rendered yourself liable to prosecution, don't forget that,"
said the man with the straw hat. "That man, Alfred Dawnay, _alias_ Day,
is wanted on a very serious charge."
"Of what?" I asked quickly.
"Never mind what. You've assisted him to escape, and you'll have to
answer for it."
And he closed the door angrily, for the train was again about to move
off towards London.
What, I wondered, was the serious charge against Alfred Dawnay?