It was a freezing winter's morning in Syria. As I was waiting for my train to depart I spoke to Lieutenant Dubosc, a french army man. We conversed a little about the case I had investigated (which was the reason I had come this far all the way from London) and the honour of French army, which I had saved. After the change of subject, I have shared my plans for staying in Stamboul for a few days with Lieutenant. It's a city worth seeing, and La Sainte Sophie is magnificent, I have heard. We had chatted for a few more minutes, but it was time for the Express to leave the Station, so I climbed aboard the train. Dubosc had waved me goodbye, and the train moved lazily forward.
Afterwards, the conductor showed me my sleeping compartment and the place, where he had placed my luggage. I learned from the conductor, that there aren't many people travelling this time of the year. In fact, I had only two travelling companions, both English. A young lady travelling from Baghdad and A Colonel from India. I wasn't pleased with the fact of an unfull night's sleep, as it was 5 o'clock in the morning, but what could I do? I ordered a bottle of Perrier and fell asleep.
And so began my voyage back to London.
