Chapter 8: By the 9.10; the First Part of the Journey

Rodney Elmore returned by the 9.10 to town. He had meant to travel by the Pullman, but as he entered the station the train was drawing clear of the platform. Being informed that another express was starting in ten minutes, he had to be content with that. Beyond doubt the Pullman had been crowded; as he found himself the sole occupant of a first-class carriage, he was inclined to think that he had not lost by the exchange. He was in a mood for privacy. Events had followed each other so quickly; he had so many things to consider that he was glad of an opportunity for a little solitary self-communion. He was not pleased, therefore, when, just as the signal had been given to start, someone came rushing along the platform, the door was thrown open by an officious guard, and a passenger was hoisted into his compartment while the train was already in motion; nor was his pleasure enhanced by the discovery that the intruder was his uncle, Graham Patterson. In such disorder had Mr. Patterson been thrown that it was some seconds before he even realised that he had a companion. Uncovering, he wiped first his brow, then the lining of his hat. He panted so for breath that his critical nephew said to himself that if he had run a little further, or even a little faster, he might have panted in vain; he had never seen a man in such difficulty with his breathing apparatus. His face was purple, his eyes seemed to be bulging out of their sockets.

The train had passed Preston Park station before Mr. Patterson had sufficiently recovered himself to become alive to the fact that he was not alone. But that he still did not recognise his companion his words showed.

“I’m not exactly--of the build--to--run after trains.”

The moment he spoke Rodney became aware that Mr. Patterson had been drinking. Not enough, perhaps, to affect his speech--the hyphenated form of the remark he had just made was owing to the trouble he still had to breathe--but sufficient to place him at the point which divides the drunk from the sober. Elmore was still; possibly because he was unwilling to spoil what he felt was the grim humour of the situation. His silence apparently struck the other as odd. Presently Mr. Patterson glanced round as if to learn what manner of person this was who offered no comment on his observation. Then he perceived who his companion was.

The discovery seemed to fill him with amazement which approached to stupefaction. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulged still farther out of his head, his face assumed a darker shade of purple; he looked like a man who was on the verge of a fit. His nephew felt that he had never seen him present so unprepossessing a spectacle. His surprise was so great that an appreciable space of time passed before he could find words to give it expression. Then they were of a lurid kind.