Something moved me to lift the blind and look out, and I saw, not without uneasiness, that we were at Basle.  I thought I recognized the station, but I soon made out for certain the name “Basilea” (Basle), and saw the clock with the fingers at five-thirty.  People were already on the move, work-people, the thrifty, industrious Swiss, forestalling time, travellers in twos and threes arriving and departing by the early train through this great junction on the frontier of Switzerland.

Stay!  What?  Who are those crossing the platform hurriedly.  Great powers!  Right under my eyes, a little party of four, two females, two men accompanying them, escorting them, carrying rugs and parcels.  There could not be a shadow of doubt.

It was the lady, the so-called Mrs. Blair, in full flight, with all her belongings, and under the care and guidance not only of the Colonel, that of course, but also of the perfidious Jules l’Echelle.  He had sold me!  All doubt of his treachery disappeared when on rushing to the door I found I had been locked into my compartment.

I rang the electric bell frantically, again and again.  I got no answer; I threw up the window and thrust my head out, shouting for help, but got none, only one or two sluggish porters came up and asked what was amiss, answering stolidly, when they heard, that it was none of their business.  “They had no key, it must be a mistake.  The conductor would explain, I must wait till he came.”

Presently Jules arrived, walking very leisurely from the direction of the restaurant, and he stood right under my window with a grin on his face and mockery in his voice.

“What’s wrong?  Locked in?  Can’t be possible?  Who could have done it?  I will inquire,” he said slowly and imperturbably.

“No, no; let me out first.  You can do it if you choose.  I believe it was your trickery from the first.  I must get out, I tell you, or they will escape me,” I cried.

“Not unlikely.  I may say it is pretty certain they will.  That was the Colonel’s idea; you’d better talk to him about it next time you see him.”

“And that will be never, I expect.  He’s not going to show up here again.”

“There you’re wrong; he will be back before the train starts, you may rely on that, and you’ll be able to talk to him.  We’ll let you out then,” he was laughing at me, traitor that he was.  “Here he comes.  We’re just going on.”

Now I saw my last chance of successfully performing my mission disappearing beyond recall.  I renewed my shouts and protests, but was only laughed at for my pains.  The railway officials at Basle might have interfered, but Jules answered for me, declaring with a significant gesture that I was in drink and that he would see to me.

I quite despaired.  Already the train was moving out of the station, when, to my intense joy, I caught sight of Ludovic Tiler, who came down the platform running alongside us, and crying, “Falfani, Falfani,” as he recognized me.