“I want to go to Nice next week. Will you give me particulars?”

“What date, sir?”

“The fourteenth. What is the best train?”

“Well, of course, the best train is what they call ‘The Blue Train.’ You avoid the tiresome Customs business at Calais.”

Derek nodded. He knew all this, none better.

“The fourteenth,” murmured the clerk; “that is rather soon. The Blue Train is nearly always all booked up.”

“See if there is a berth left,” said Derek. “If there is not⁠—” He left the sentence unfinished, with a curious smile on his face.

The clerk disappeared for a few minutes, and presently returned. “That is all right, sir; still three berths left. I will book you one of them. What name?”