The Vanished Messenger
by E. Phillips Oppenheim
CHAPTER I
There were very few people upon Platform Number Twenty-one of
Liverpool Street Station at a quarter to nine on the evening
of April 2 - possibly because the platform in question is one of
the most remote and least used in the great terminus. The
station-master, however, was there himself, with an inspector in
attendance. A dark, thick-set man, wearing a long travelling
ulster and a Homburg hat, and carrying in his hand a brown leather
dressing-case, across which was painted in black letters the name
MR. JOHN P. DUNSTER, was standing a few yards away, smoking a
long cigar, and, to all appearance absorbed in studying the
advertisements which decorated the grimy wall on the other side of
the single track. A couple of porters were seated upon a barrow
which contained one solitary portmanteau. There were no signs of
other passengers, no other luggage. As a matter of fact, according
to the time-table, no train was due to leave the station or to
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