The woman descended, and Dobson, after making sure that no one else meant to follow her example, also left the carriage.

A porter was shouting: "Fast train to Glasgow--Glasgow next stop." Dickson watched the innkeeper shoulder his way through the crowd in the direction of the booking office.

"He's off to send a telegram," he decided.

"There'll be trouble waiting for me at the other end." When the train moved on he found himself disinclined for further talk.
He had suddenly become meditative, and curled up in a corner with his head hard against the window pane, watching the wet fields and glistening roads as they slipped past.

He had his plans made for his conduct at Glasgow, but, Lord! how he loathed the whole business! Last night he had had a kind of gusto in his desire to circumvent villainy; at Dalquharter station he had enjoyed a momentary sense of triumph; now he felt very small, lonely, and forlorn.