dropped off to a more or less uneasy slumber. The truth was that in spite of various developments the whole thing, at two o'clock that morning, was to me a bigger and more exasperating mystery than ever.
And it was still there when I woke, sharply, at six o'clock; so much so, indeed, that I felt as if I should like to march into Parslewe's room next door, shake him out of his no doubt sound sleep, and tell him that he'd got to make a clean breast of things, there and then. As I knew no man in the world less likely to be forced into confession until such time as he chose to speak, I took another course to calm my perplexed state of mind. I rose, shaved, dressed, and going downstairs, went out into the big station. Railway stations, at any hour of the day, but especially early in the morning, have a fascination for me—the goings and comings of the first trains, the gradually increasing signs of waking up, the arrival of the newspapers and opening of the bookstalls, even the unloading and carrying away of the milk cans, are sources of mighty attraction. I lounged about for some time, watching and observing; finally, as the hands of the clock
