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Updated: May 22, 2025
And at Gibraltar, too, when they asked you what you had thrown overboard do you remember how you kept silent and never even glanced my way?" "No," I groaned, "I don't; but I remember our trip to Paris. I remember marching you into the wagon-restaurant like a hand-cuffed criminal, and sitting you down at a table, and bullying you like a Russian czar. I gave you three days to leave France.
"Yes," replied the financier, and then on comparing the numbers on the coupons the old man discovered that by a coincidence his berth adjoined the one which had been taken for myself. We travelled merrily across to Boulogne, the weather being unusually fine, and took our déjeuner together in the wagon-restaurant on the way to Paris.
A few hours later, at dinner in the wagon-restaurant, I found him placed at the same little table opposite me, and naturally we began to chat. He spoke in French, perfect French it was, but refused to speak English, though, of course, he could had he wished. "Ah! non," he laughed. "I cannot. Excuse me. My pronunciation is so faulty. Your English is so ve-ry deefecult!"
At the railway station he found the through express from Ventimiglia the Italian frontier to Paris would be due in twenty minutes, therefore he purchased a first-class ticket for Paris, and in a short time was taking his morning coffee in the wagon-restaurant on his way to the French capital.
They had lost sight of the Reddons from the moment they entered the Paris train, for the Reddons, having second-class tickets, were forced to wait for a slower train, which they didn't seem to mind as it gave them a chance to see the little town and lunch in a cabaret instead of paying for an expensive meal on the wagon-restaurant as the Bragdons did.
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