The Spectre of the Severn Tunnel

Sitting by the window, his shoulder turned towards me, was the dim figure of a man.

How on earth had he got there? Certainly I had the carriage to myself on leaving Newport. The train had not stopped since. Could he have lain concealed under the seat? Reflection contradicted this idea. On entering the compartment, I had clumsily dropped my umbrella, and had gone down on my knees to pick it up. I could take my oath that there was nobody beneath either seat at the time.

My mind flew to lunatics and escaped convicts. He might have come from some other carriage, and, crawling along the footboard, have opened the door of my compartment, and entered while I slept. Recollection flashed across me that t