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I recognized his accuser at once. It was Lord Alberan, the famous Tory obstructionist. "Anarchist!" Lord Alberan's voice rang out sharply. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his face. "Arrest him!" he said to the constable with an air of satisfaction. "I knew he was an anarchist the moment I set eyes on him at Dover. There is an infernal machine in that bag. The man reeks of vodka. He is mad."
I noticed she actually smoked very little, but seemed to like to watch the burning cigarette. "Do sit down. What are you standing for, Geoffrey?" Lord Alberan's attitude relaxed. He had evidently decided on his course of action. "That is very interesting," he observed, as if he had never seen Sarakoff before. "A germ that is going to keep us all young. It reminds me of the Arabian Nights.
Get me out of this stupid situation!" "What is the matter?" I asked, glancing at the station-master. He explained briefly that Lord Alberan and Sarakoff had travelled up in the same compartment from Dover, and that Sarakoff's strange restlessness and excited movements had roused Lord Alberan's suspicions. As a consequence Sarakoff had been detained for examination.
I should like to see it." "You've seen it already," replied Sarakoff, imperturbably. Lord Alberan's cold eyes looked steadily before him. His mouth tightened. "Really?" "You saw it at Charing Cross Station the night before last." "At Charing Cross Station?" I tried to signal to the Russian, but he seemed determined to proceed. "Yes you thought I was an anarchist. You saw the contents of my bag.
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