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The cold drizzle made Plymouth unhappy, and it was with a sigh of relief that Bruce Carey exchanged the greasy, dirty platform of North Road Station for the warm, well-lit comfort of a first-class night mail coupe for London. At first he thought that he would have a car, but when the train was getting ready to start, a man jumped into it and fell on the seat opposite Bruce. He was breathing heavily, as if running, and Bruce, looking at him, was struck by the expression on his face.