The station-master recognised
him, and touched his hat. Then he saw the two other men got down after
him, and he turned pale.
"I will leave my portmanteau," said Lord Harry, "in the cloak-room. It
will be called for."
Afterwards the station-master remembered those words. Lord Harry did
not say "I will call for it," but "It will be called for." Ominous
words.
The weather was cold; a drizzling rain fell; the day was drawing in.
Lord Harry left the station, and started with quick step along the
road, which stretched across a dreary desolate piece of country.
The two men walked after him. One presently quickened his step, leaving
the second man twenty yards behind.
The station-master looked after them till he could see them no longer.
Then he shook his head and returned to his office.
Lord Harry walking along the road knew that the two men were following
him. Presently he became aware that one of them was quickening his
pace.
He walked on. Perhaps his cheeks paled and his lips were set close,
because he knew that he was walking to his death.
The steps behind him approached faster--faster. Lord Harry never even
turned his head. The man was close behind him.
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