Bones in London - Edgar Wallace [71]
Just before his special rounded the bend which brought it within sight of Bayham Junction the Lynhaven express had reached within a few hundred yards of annihilation. The signalman at Bayham Junction had watched the oncoming rush of Bones’ train, and, having a fairly extensive knowledge of the “Mary Louisa” and her eccentricities, he realized just what had happened.
There was only one thing to be done. He could see the smoke from the Cabinet Minister’s special rising above the cutting two miles away, and he threw over two levers simultaneously. The first set the points which brought the Lynhaven express on to the main line, switching it from the deadly bay wherein the runaway train would have been smashed to pieces; the second lever set the distant signal against the special. It was a toss-up whether the special had not already passed the distant signal, but he had to take that risk.
Bones, with his arm round the girl, awaiting a noisy and violent dissolution, felt the “Mary Louisa” sway to the right when it should have swayed to the left, heard the clang of the points as he passed them, and drew a long breath when he found himself headed along a straight clear stretch of line. It was some time before he found his voice, and then it was little more than a squeak.
“We’re going to London, dear old thing,” he said tremulously.
The girl smiled, though her face was deathly pale. “I thought we were going to heaven,” she said.
“Never, dear old thing,” said Bones, recovering something of his spirits as he saw the danger past. “Old Bones will never send you there.”
The problem of the “Mary Louisa” was still unsettled. She was tearing away like a Flying Dutchman. She was oozing steam at every pore, and, glancing back, Bones saw the agitated countenance of the aged guard thrust through the window. He waved frantically at Bones, and Bones waved genially back again.
He was turning back to make another attempt on the lever, when, looking past the guard, he saw a sight which brought his heart into his mouth. Pounding along behind him, and emitting feathers of steam from her whistle, was an enormous locomotive. Bones guessed there was a train behind it, but the line was too straight for him to see.
“Gracious heavens!” he gasped. “We’re being chased!”
He jerked at the lever – though it was a moment when he should have left it severely alone – and to his ill-founded joy it moved.
The two trains came to a standstill together ten miles from Bayham Junction, and Bones climbed down into the six-foot way and walked back.
Almost the first person he met was a gesticulating gentleman in a frock-coat and with a red face, who, mistaking him for an engine-driver, dismissed him on the spot, threatened him with imprisonment – with or without hard labour he did not specify – and demanded what the dickens he meant by holding up a Cabinet Minister?”
“Why,” chortled Bones, “isn’t it my dear friend, Mr Chenney?”
“Who are you,” snarled Mr Chenney, “and what do you mean by calling me your dear friend? By Heavens, I’ll have you kicked out of this service!”
“Don’t you know old Tibbetts?” cooed Bones. “Well, well, fancy meeting you!”
He held out a grimy hand, which was not taken. “Tibbetts!” growled the gentleman. “Oh, you are the foo— the gentleman who bought the Lynhaven line, didn’t you?”
“Certainly,” said Bones.
“But what is your train doing here?” asked Mr Chenney violently. “Don’t you realize you are holding up a special? Great Heavens, man, this is very serious! You are holding up the business of the country!”
The engine-driver of the special came to the rescue.
“There’s a switch-over about half a mile further on,” he said. “There’s not a down train due for an hour. I’ll unlock the switch and put you on to the other line, and, after we have passed, you can come on.”
“But I don’t want to come on, dear old thing,” said Bones. “I want to go back.”
“Well, that’s simple,” said the driver.
He it was who piloted the Lynhaven express for another half-mile up the road. He it