Before the girl could speak, Fowler said, "What? And steal her away from you, leaving you solitary upon the journey? I would not think of it. Come, come, the train will soon leave. Where is your compartment?"
They walked the length of the train to Pierces compartment. Fowler was in unshakable good spirits, and chattered at length about physicians and their foibles. They stepped into Pierce's compartment and closed the door. Pierce glanced at his watch: it was six minutes to eight. The train did not always leave precisely on schedule, but even so, time was short.
Pierce had to get rid of Fowler. He could not climb out of his compartment onto the roof of the train if there were any strangers--- and certainly anyone from the bank--- in his compartment. But at the same time, he had to get rid of Fowler in such a way that no suspicion would be aroused; for in the aftermath of the robbery Mr. Fowler would search his memory--- and probably be questioned by the authorities--- to uncover the least hint of irregularity that might explain who the robbers were.
Mr. Fowler was still talking, but his focus was directed toward the girl, who gave every appearance of rapt and fascinated attention. "It's the most extraordinary luck, running across Edward today. Do you travel this route often, Edward? I myself do it no more than once a month. And you, Miss Lawson?"
"I been on a train before," the girl said, "but I never gone first class; only my mistress, this time she buys me a first ticket, seeing as how, you know..."
"Oh, quite, quite," Fowler said, in a hearty, chin-up manner. "One must do all one can for one in times of stress. I must confess, I am under no little stress myself this morning. Now, Edward here, he may have guessed the reason for my travel, and therefore my stress. Eh, Edward? Have you a guess?"
Pierce had not been listening. He was staring out the window, considering how to get rid of Fowler in the remaining few minutes. He looked over at Fowler. "Do you think your bags are safe?" he said.
"My bags? Bags? What--- Oh, in my compartment? I have no bags, Edward. I carry not so much as a ease of briefs, for once in Folkestone, I shall remain there just two hours, hardly the space of time to take a meal, or some refreshments, or smoke a cigar, before I am back on the train, homeward bound."
Smoke a cigar, Pierce thought. Of course. He reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a long cigar, which he lit.
"Now, then, dear girl," Fowler said, "our friend Edward here shall surely have surmised the purpose of my journey, but I fancy you are still in the dark."
The girl was, in fact, staring at Mr. Fowler with her mouth slightly open.
"The truth is that this is no ordinary train, and I am no ordinary passenger. On the contrary, I am the general manager of the banking firm of Huddleston & Bradford, Westminster, and today, aboard this very train--- not two hundred paces from us as we sit here--- my firm has stored a quantity of gold bullion for shipment overseas to our brave troops. Can you imagine how much? No? Well, then--- it is a quantity in excess of twelve thousand pounds, my dear child."
"Cor!" the girl exclaimed. "And you're in charge of all that?"
"I am indeed." Henry Fowler was looking plainly self-satisfied, and with reason. He had obviously overwhelmed the simple girl with his words, and she now regarded him with dizzy admiration. And perhaps more? She appeared to have entirely forgotten Pierce.
That is, until Pierce's cigar smoke billowed in gray clouds within the compartment. Now the girl coughed in a delicate, suggestive fashion, as she had no doubt observed her mistress to do. Pierce, staring out the window, did not seem to notice.
The girl coughed again, more insistently. When Pierce still made no response, Fowler took it upon himself to speak. "Are you feeling well?" he inquired.
"I was, but I'm faint...." The girl made a vague gesture toward the smoke.
"Edward," Fowler said. "I believe your tobacco causes Miss Lawson some distress, Edward."
Pierce looked at him and said, "What?"
"I say, would you mind---" Fowler began.
The girl bent forward and said, "I feel quite faint, I fear, please," and she extended a hand toward the door, as if to open it.
"Just look, now," Fowler said to Pierce. Fowler opened the door and helped the girl--- who leaned rather heavily upon his arm--- into the fresh air.
"I had no idea," Pierce protested. "Believe me, had I but known---"
"You might have inquired before lighting your diabolical contraption," Fowler said, with the girl leaning against him, weak-kneed, so that much of her bosom pressed against his chest.
"I'm most dreadfully sorry," Pierce said. He started to get out himself, to lend assistance.
The last thing Fowler wanted was assistance. "You shouldn't smoke anyway, if your doctor has warned you that trains are hazardous to your health," he snapped. "Come, my dear," he said to the girl, "my compartment is just this way, and we can continue our conversation with no danger of noxious fumes." The girl went willingly.
"Dreadfully sorry," Pierce said again, but neither of them looked back.
A moment later, the whistle blew and the engine began to chug. Pierce stepped into his compartment, shut the door, and watched London Bridge Station slide away past his window as the morning train to Folkestone began to gather speed.
PART FOUR : THE GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY : May, 1855
Chapter 42 A Remarkable Revival
Burgess, locked in the windowless luggage van, knew by now the location of the train at any moment by the sound of the track. He heard first the smooth clacking of the wheels on the well-laid rails of the yard. Then, later, the hollow, more resonant tones as the train crossed Bermondsey on the elevated overpass for several miles, and, still later, a transition to a deader sound and a rougher ride, signaling the beginning of the southward run outside London and into the countryside.