He was congratulating himself on the acquisition of a bed--although it
might possess the odour of a bed of tuberoses--when all of his pleasant
calculations were upset by the appearance of a German burgher and his
family. It was then that he learned that these people had booked _le
compartement_ from Strassburg to Munich.
Brock resumed his window-seat and despondently awaited the call to
breakfast. He fell sound asleep with his monocle in position; nor did it
matter to him that his hat dropped through the window and went scuttling
off across the green Rhenish fields. When next he looked at his watch,
it was eight o'clock. A small boy was standing at the end of the
passage, staring wide-eyed at him. Two little girls came piling, half
dressed, from a compartment, evidently in response to the youngster's
whispered command to hurry out and see the funny man. Brock scowled
darkly, and the trio darted swiftly into the compartment.
He dragged his stiff legs into the dining-car at Stuttgart and shoved
them under a table. The car was quite empty. As he was staring blankly
at the menu, the _conducteur_ from his car hurried in with the word that
Madame would not breakfast until nine. She was still very sleepy. Would
Monsieur Medcroft be good enough to order her coffee and rolls brought
to her compartment at that hour? And would he mind seeing that the maid
saw to it that Raggles surely had his biscuit and a walk at the next
station?
"Raggles?" queried Brock, passing his hand over his brow.
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