That man must be found.
His testimony should have an immense significance.
That evening, shortly before seven o'clock, a stalwart,
prosperous-looking gentleman in tweeds "descended" from the London
express at Knoleworth. The local train for Steynholme stood in a bay on
the opposite platform, and this passenger in particular was making for it
when he nearly collided with another man, younger, thinner, bespectacled,
who hailed him with delight.
"You, too? Good egg!" was the cry.
The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
"Where the deuce are you off to?" he demanded.
"To Steynholme--same as you, of course."
"Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next
few days, you'll never know me again. I suppose you'll be staying at the
local inn--there's only one of any repute in the place?"
"That's so. I've got you. May I take it that you will reciprocate when
the time comes?"
"Have I ever failed you?"
"No. We meet as strangers."
Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest "writer
up" in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both
him and a shrewd news-editor.
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