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Monsieur Caratal, upon leaving the superintendent’s office, rejoined hiscompanion, and both of them manifested extreme impatience to be off.Having paid the money asked, which amounted to fifty pounds fiveshillings, at the usual special rate of five shillings a mile, theydemanded to be shown the carriage, and at once took their seats in it,although they were assured that the better part of an hour must elapsebefore the line could be cleared. In the meantime a singular coincidencehad occurred in the office which Monsieur Caratal had just quitted.
A request for a special is not a very uncommon circumstance in a richcommercial centre, but that two should be required upon the sameafternoon was most unusual. It so happened, however, that Mr. Bland hadhardly dismissed the first traveller before a second entered with asimilar request. This was a Mr. Horace Moore, a gentlemanly man ofmilitary appearance, who alleged that the sudden serious illness of hiswife in London made it absolutely imperative that he should not lose aninstant in starting upon the journey. His distress and anxiety were soevident that Mr. Bland did all that was possible to meet his wishes. Asecond special was out of the question, as the ordinary local servicewas already somewhat deranged by the first. There was the alternative,however, that Mr. Moore should share the expense of Monsieur Caratal’strain, and should travel in the other empty first-class compartment, ifMonsieur Caratal objected to having him in the one which he occupied. Itwas difficult to see any objection to such an arrangement, and yetMonsieur Caratal, upon the suggestion being made to him by Mr. PotterHood, absolutely refused to consider it for an instant. The train washis, he said, and he would insist upon the exclusive use of it. Allargument failed to overcome his ungracious objections, and finally theplan had to be abandoned. Mr. Horace Moore left the station in greatdistress, after learning that his only course was to take the ordinaryslow train which leaves Liverpool at six o’clock. At four thirty-oneexactly by the station clock the special train, containing the crippledMonsieur Caratal and his gigantic companion, steamed out of theLiverpool station. The line was at that time clear, and there shouldhave been no stoppage before Manchester.
The trains of the London and West Coast Railway run over the lines ofanother company as far as this town, which should have been reached bythe special rather before six o’clock. At a quarter after sixconsiderable surprise and some consternation were caused amongst theofficials at Liverpool by the receipt of a telegram from Manchester tosay that it had not yet arrived. An inquiry directed to St. Helens,which is a third of the way between the two cities, elicited thefollowing reply:—
“To James Bland, Superintendent, Central L. & W. C., Liverpool.—Specialpassed here at 4.52, well up to time.—Dowser, St. Helens.”
This telegram was received at 6.40. At 6.50 a second message wasreceived from Manchester:—
“No sign of special as advised by you.”
And then ten minutes later a third, more bewildering:—
“Presume some mistake as to proposed running of special. Local trainfrom St. Helens timed to follow it has just arrived and has seen nothingof it. Kindly wire advices.—Manchester.”
The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect, although in some respectsthe last telegram was a relief to the authorities at Liverpool. If anaccident had occurred to the special, it seemed hardly possible that thelocal train could have passed down the same line without observing it.And yet, what was the alternative? Where could the train be? Had itpossibly been side-tracked for some reason in order to allow the slowertrain to go past? Such an explanation was possible if some small repairhad to be effected. A telegram was dispatched to each of the stationsbetween St. Helens and Manchester, and the superintendent and trafficmanager waited in the utmost suspense at the instrument for the seriesof replies which would enable them to say for certain what had become ofthe missing train. The answers came back in the order of questions,which was the order of the stations beginning at the St. Helens end:—
“Special passed here five o’clock.—Collins Green.”
“Special passed here six past five.—Earlestown.”
“Special passed here 5.10.—Newton.”
“Special passed here 5.20.—Kenyon Junction.”
“No special train has passed here.—Barton Moss.”
The two officials stared at each other in amazement.
“This is unique in my thirty years of experience,” said Mr. Bland.
“Absolutely unprecedented and inexplicable, sir. The special has gonewrong between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss.”
“And yet there is no siding, so far as my memory serves me, between thetwo stations. The special must have run off the metals.”
“But how could the four-fifty parliamentary pass over the same linewithout observing it?”
“There’s no alternative, Mr. Hood. It _must_ be so. Possibly the localtrain may have observed something which may throw some light
upon thematter. We will wire to Manchester for more information, and to KenyonJunction with instructions that the line be examined instantly as far asBarton Moss.”
The answer from Manchester came within a few minutes.
“No news of missing special. Driver and guard of slow train positive noaccident between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss. Line quite clear, andno sign of anything unusual.—Manchester.”
“That driver and guard will have to go,” said Mr. Bland, grimly. “Therehas been a wreck and they have missed it. The special has obviously runoff the metals without disturbing the line—how it could have done sopasses my comprehension—but so it must be, and we shall have a wire fromKenyon or Barton Moss presently to say that they have found her at thebottom of an embankment.”
But Mr. Bland’s prophecy was not destined to be fulfilled. Half an hourpassed, and then there arrived the following message from thestation-master of Kenyon Junction:—
“There are no traces of the missing special. It is quite certain thatshe passed here, and that she did not arrive at Barton Moss. We havedetached engine from goods train, and I have myself ridden down theline, but all is clear, and there is no sign of any accident.”
Mr. Bland tore his hair in his perplexity.
“This is rank lunacy, Hood!” he cried. “Does a train vanish into thinair in England in broad daylight? The thing is preposterous. An engine,a tender, two carriages, a van, five human beings—and all lost on astraight line of railway! Unless we get something positive within thenext hour I’ll take Inspector Collins, and go down myself.”
And then at last something positive did occur. It took the shape ofanother telegram from Kenyon Junction.
“Regret to report that the dead body of John Slater, driver of thespecial train, has just been found among the gorse bushes at a point twoand a quarter miles from the Junction. Had fallen from his engine,pitched down the embankment, and rolled among bushes. Injuries to hishead, from the fall, appear to be cause of death. Ground has now beencarefully examined, and there is no trace of the missing train.”
