ten minutes to seven
I sat down by the window on the far side of the carriage . Alongside it ran the brown panels and gold lettering of a German restaurant car . I looked at my watch . It was ten minutes to seven . There was no sign of my mysterious friend . I wondered vaguely , too , what had become of my porter . True , there was nothing of importance in Semlin 's bag , but a traveller with luggage always commands more confidence than one without .