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 precaution Beaumanoir pulled out his own Smith and Wesson.

“Get up and sit in that corner,” he said sternly, eyeing the puny form of the invader with curiosity. Open violence at any rate was not to be apprehended from the stunted little figure of a man who coweringly obeyed his order.

But as his captive turned round and showed his sullen face the Duke knew that this was no mere impecunious vagabond, sneaking a cheap railway journey. His fellow passenger was part and parcel of the peril that menaced him—had, in fact, been a fellow-passenger of his before. For the wizened, mean-looking face was the face of the spy Marker, who had been pointed out to him by Leonie on board the St. Paul, and who had afterwards shadowed him to the Hotel Cecil on landing.

“So we meet again, Mr. Marker,” said the Duke with pleasant irony. “I should have thought that your friend Mr. Ziegler could have provided you with a railway fare rather than let you travel like a broken racing sharp—under the seat.”

The fellow blinked his ferret eyes viciously, but began a futile attempt at prevarication.