On a sudden he admitted to his mind the
possibility that the engagement he was waiting in town to keep
might be postponed without much harm.
It was no sooner perceived than attempted. Looking at his watch,
he found it wanted forty minutes to the departure of the ten
o'clock train from Paddington, which left him a surplus quarter of
an hour before it would be necessary to start for the station.
Scribbling a hasty note or two--one putting off the business
meeting, another to Knight apologizing for not being able to see
him in the evening--paying his bill, and leaving his heavier
luggage to follow him by goods-train, he jumped into a cab and
rattled off to the Great Western Station.
Shortly afterwards he took his seat in the railway carriage.
The guard paused on his whistle, to let into the next compartment
to Smith's a man of whom Stephen had caught but a hasty glimpse as
he ran across the platform at the last moment.
Smith sank back into the carriage, stilled by perplexity. The man
was like Knight--astonishingly like him. Was it possible it could
be he? To have got there he must have driven like the wind to
Bede's Inn, and hardly have alighted before starting again. No,
it could not be he; that was not his way of doing things.
During the early part of the journey Stephen Smith's thoughts
busied themselves till his brain seemed swollen. One subject was
concerning his own approaching actions.
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