Hugh Walpole

“ The men were no longer silent, for one of them was snoring—his head had sunk down onto the table and his arms sprawled in front of him; the other also was asleep—only his head was flung back and his hands were clenched—and, even now, his face was hidden under the shadow of his hat.
Mr. Bannister thought it strange that such villains should fall asleep so speedily, but now was the moment for escape. He would go and warn the landlord. He rose, trembling, from his chair and crept softly round the table, his eyes fixed on the sleepers. ”

“ It is murder!” But they raised him in their arms, and he knew that they were going to hang him from the bedpost by the side of the little landlord. The nightcaps closed round him; the candles flickered in the breeze; the woman watched him with quiet eyes.
“This is Little Dutton,” she said to him, and she touched him on the arm. “I hope you will forgive my waking you, sir, but this is Little Dutton, and you would have passed it.”
He thanked her as he rubbed his eyes. She was sitting soberly opposite him, the basket on her knees, and the little boy watched him silently from the corner. ”

“ He could not understand why the passage was so long. The inn had not seemed a very large place—but this was interminable. The air grew thicker and thicker around him and he wondered whether he was descending into the heart of the earth. The thought of a living grave terrified him, and he leaned against the damp wall, his poor coat flapping against his trembling knees, and his hands stretched in front of his face as though to guard it from unseen horrors into which he might at any moment plunge. ”

“ But where are we going to now? Shall I be able to get out somewhere and change and be back in Little Dutton to-night? It’s really most dreadfully important—I haven’t the least idea—”
And then suddenly the train stopped. Through the carriage window a station lamp gleamed mistily. The large woman collected hurriedly her basket, her sticks and her little boy and vanished through the door. Mr. Bannister hurriedly followed her.
He leaned out over the platform. It was a tiny wayside station with two lamps and a wild porter with a long beard. He cried discordantly: “All change! All change!” ”

“ There were plenty of other persons ready to take his place and the Telegraph could scarcely afford to pay men who missed their trains.
He could not understand the darkness. He had left King’s Cross in the morning and, slow though the train had been, it could not be more than lunch-time now. But the carriage was most horribly dark, and only vaguely from beyond the window he caught distant outlines of trees and somber houses.
Then suddenly he saw a star. There could be no mistake. Vividly, brilliantly, it sparkled at him through the carriage windows. A star! ”

“ At their side were large glasses filled with ale, and they glittered in the light of the lamp. Then Mr. Bannister, sitting silently in his dark corner, overheard their conversation.
“They are all asleep. There is no one here.”
"No—the man is alone—we are the only travelers.”
"The box is under the bed. You know your directions. I will be waiting for you at the bottom of the passage—”
"One blow will be sufficient. When I strike I strike hard.” ”

“ Everything that he handled seemed to be a lost cause, and one paper after another faded away at his eager touch—he depended, eventually, for his living, on the crimes and misfortunes of his fellow men—the world seemed to his tired brain a procession of thieves and murderers with the divorce courts for a background. ”

“ MR. BANNISTER chose his carriage with some care. He was always careful in the train because if you had work to do it was obviously necessary to have the place to yourself—when people were talking nothing could be done.
It was a dark, windy day in late November. The platform at King’s Cross was nearly deserted, and it was all very cold and gloomy. The book-stall stared vacantly across the empty lines and its books and papers fluttered discontentedly as though they protested indignantly against their unhappy neglect—a porter pushed a load of luggage vacantly down the platform and ran into Mr. ”

“ Opposite him there sat a commercial traveler, a little run to seed.
"Cold,” said Mr. Bannister.
"Very,” said the traveler—and then added as he watched the dust whirl past the window:
"It's a dull world. ”