As they did so, an engine gave a scream, and presently, as they reached the inside of the station, they saw passing out at the far end, the New York train.
"She started five minutes late, but she did start," said Denzil, and there was malice in his smile.
As he looked at his watch, he saw Junia passing out of a door into the street, but Barode Barouche did not see her--his eyes were fixed on the departing train.
For a moment Barouche stood indecisive as to whether he should hire a locomotive and send some one after the train, and so get in touch with Luzanne in that way, or send her a telegram to the first station where the train would stop in its schedule; but presently he gave up both ideas.

As he turned towards the exit of the station, he saw Denzil, and he came forward.
"I think you've won, mon petit chien," he said with vindictiveness, "but my poll comes to-morrow night, and I shall win." "No game is won till it's all played, m'sieu', and this innings is mine!" "I am fighting a bigger man than you, wasp," snarled Barouche.
"As big as yourself and bigger, m'sieu'," said Denzil with a smile.
There was that in his tone which made Barouche regard him closely.
He saw there was no real knowledge of the relationship of Carnac and himself in Denzil's eyes; but he held out his hand with imitation courtesy, as though to say good-bye.
"Give me a love-clasp, spider," he said with a kind of sneer.

"I'd like your love as I travel to triumph." A light of hatred came into Denzil's eyes.

"Beetledog--wasp--spider" he had been called by this big man--well, he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got.

His big gnarled hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he suddenly closed on it tight.