It was some hours since we had started, but it was still pitch dark, with the wintry blackness of a northern night. I leaned and gazed forward with dull eyes, when I was aware of two red sparks that did not grow and rush toward us as I expected.
Were we slackening speed by any chance? I turned to the engine driver, and pointed with my hand.
The grimy toiler nodded. Then making a trumpet of his hands he shouted above the rattle of the wheels—
“The rear-lights of the express!”
CHAPTER VIII
THE CZAR’S MESSENGER
I drew out my watch and glanced at it by the light of the flaring stoke-hole. It was just half-past eight.