The Vanished Messenger

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 arrive at it, on this particular platform, for several hours.