The Beetle, Richard Marsh [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

“Then where’s the next stoppage?”

“Well, they’re at Luton at 12:51. But that’s another case of St. Albans. You see there won’t be much more than twenty minutes by the time you’ve got your wire off, and I don’t expect there’ll be many people awake at Luton. At these country places sometimes there’s a policeman hanging about the station to see the express go through, but, on the other hand, very often there isn’t, and if there isn’t, probably at this time of night it’ll take a good bit of time to get the police on the premises. I tell you what I should advise.”

“What’s that?”

“The train is due at Bedford at 1:29⁠—send your wire there. There ought to be plenty of people about at Bedford, and anyhow there’ll be time to get the police to the station.”

“Very good. I instructed them to tell you to have a special ready⁠—have you got one?”

“There’s an engine with steam up in the shed⁠—we’ll have all ready for you in less than ten minutes. And I tell you what⁠—you’ll have about fifty minutes before the train is due at Bedford. It’s a fifty mile run. With luck you ought to get there pretty nearly as soon as the express does.⁠—Shall I tell them to get ready?”

“At once.”

While he issued directions through a telephone to what, I presume, was the engine shed, I drew up a couple of telegrams. Having completed his orders he turned to me.

“They’re coming out of the siding now⁠—they’ll be ready in less than ten minutes. I’ll see that the line’s kept clear. Have you got those wires?”

“Here is one⁠—this is for Bedford.”

It ran:

“Arrest the Arab who is in train due at 1:29. When leaving St. Pancras he was in a third-class compartment in front wagon. He has a large bundle, which detain. He took two third singles for Hull. Also detain his companion, who is dressed like a tramp. This is a young lady whom the Arab has disguised and kidnapped while in a condition of hypnotic trance. Let her have medical assistance and be taken to a hotel. All expenses will be paid on the arrival of the undersigned who is following by special train. As the Arab will probably be very violent a sufficient force of police should be in waiting.

“Augustus Champnell.”

“And this is the other. It is probably too late to be of any use at St. Albans⁠—but send it there, and also to Luton.”

“Is Arab with companion in train which left St. Pancras at 13:00? If so, do not let them get out till train reaches Bedford, where instructions are being wired for arrest.”

The Inspector rapidly scanned them both.

“They ought to do your business, I should think. Come along with me⁠—I’ll have them sent at once, and we’ll see if your train’s ready.”

The train was not ready⁠—nor was it ready within the prescribed ten minutes. There was some hitch, I fancy, about a saloon. Finally we had to be content with an ordinary old-fashioned first-class carriage. The delay, however, was not altogether time lost. Just as the engine with its solitary coach was approaching the platform someone came running up with an envelope in his hand.

“Telegram from St. Albans.”

I tore it open. It was brief and to the point.

“Arab with companion was in train when it left here. Am wiring Luton.”

“That’s all right. Now unless something wholly unforeseen takes place, we ought to have them.”

That unforeseen!

I went forward with the Inspector and the guard of our train to exchange a few final words with the driver. The Inspector explained what instructions he had given.

“I’ve told the driver not to spare his coal but to take you into Bedford within five minutes after the arrival of the express. He says he thinks that he can do it.”

The driver leaned over his engine, rubbing his hands with the usual oily rag. He was a short, wiry man with grey hair and a grizzled moustache, with about him that bearing of semi-humorous, frank-faced resolution which one notes about engine-drivers as a class.

“We ought to do it, the gradients are against us, but it’s a clear night and there’s no wind. The only thing that will stop us will be if there’s any shunting on the road, or any luggage trains; of course, if we are blocked, we are blocked, but the Inspector says he’ll clear the way for us.”

“Yes,” said the Inspector, “I’ll clear the way. I’ve wired down the road already.”

Atherton broke in.

“Driver, if you get us into Bedford within five minutes of the arrival of the mail there’ll be a five-pound note to divide between your mate and you.”

The driver grinned.

“We’ll get you there in time, sir, if we have to go clear through the shunters. It isn’t often we get a chance of a five-pound note for a run to Bedford, and we’ll do our best to earn it.”

The fireman waved his hand in the rear.

“That’s right, sir!” he cried. “We’ll have to trouble you for that five-pound note.”

So soon as we were clear of the station it began to seem probable that, as the fireman put it, Atherton would be “troubled.” Journeying in a train which consists of a single carriage attached to an engine which is flying at topmost speed is a very different business from being an occupant of an ordinary train which is travelling at ordinary express rates. I had discovered that for myself before. That night it was impressed on me more than ever. A tyro⁠—or even a nervous “season”⁠—might have been excused for expecting at every moment we were going to be derailed. It was hard to believe that the carriage had any springs⁠—it rocked and swung, and jogged and jolted. Of smooth travelling had we none. Talking was out of the question;⁠—and for that, I, personally, was grateful. Quite apart from the difficulty we experienced in keeping our seats⁠—and when every moment our position was being altered and we were