The Lion's Mouse

								

"Yes. The last minute before the train started. I have a berth in this
car. I thought I was safe, that everything was right for me. Then I saw
the man ... not the one I expected; worse. He wasn't in this car, but
the next. I saw him standing there. He was looking at some ladies
passing through. One had on deep mourning, and a crepe veil. Perhaps he
believed it was I. I turned and rushed this way. Your door was open, and
you ... you looked like a real man. That's all."
"What about your baggage?"
"I have nothing. I ... was in a hurry."
"In what name did you make your reservation?"
"Miss Beverley White. White isn't my real name: Beverley is ... one of
my names. I can't tell you more."
"All right. The porter will get some toilet things for my cousin whom
I'm to chaperon from Albuquerque to Chicago, and who nearly missed the
train owing to illness. He'll bring your meals in, as you're not able to
leave your stateroom."
"That's what I'd have asked," she said. "I may trust the porter?"
"The porter knows me. Your idea is," he went on, his hand on the door,
"that the man you don't want to see will try pretty hard to see you?"
"Yes. When he searches the train and can't find me (I'm sure he's begun
the search already) he can't be certain I'm on board, but he won't give
up easily. If the deepest gratitude----"
"I don't need consolation. Any other instructions to give before I leave
you?"
"No. Yes ... there's one thing. Will you take charge of a very small
parcel? I daren't keep it myself, in case anything unexpected should
happen.
"It is inside my dress," the girl explained. For an instant she turned
her back, then, rebuttoning her blouse with one hand, held out to him in
the other a long, thick envelope, unaddressed, and sealed with three
gold-coloured seals. Roger took the parcel.
"You see how I trust you," she said. "This packet is the most valuable
thing I have in the world, yet I feel it is safe."
"You told me you didn't know my name. But if I'm your cousin you'd
better know it. I'm Roger Sands----"
"Roger Sands, the great--what is the word?--corporation lawyer? The man
who saved the California Oil Trust king?" She looked surprised, almost
frightened.
"It isn't a 'Trust,' or I couldn't have saved him. That was just the
point."
"How lucky I am to have such a man stand by me! For you will?"
He slipped the long envelope into an inside breast pocket of his gray
tweed coat. "It's as safe there as in a bank," he assured her. "Now I'll
go and make everything straight. If you want me, you've only to ring for
the porter and send me word. I won't come till you do send."
Whether or no her terror was justified, Roger resolved to give it the
benefit of the doubt. Instead of trying to secure another stateroom, he
would try to get a section close to Stateroom A, in order to play
watch-dog.
It wasn't difficult to do. The section he wanted was engaged from the
next stopping place, but an exchange could be made. The Pullman car