“I haven’t the slightest idea. We’ll look into that after awhile. Go ahead with your story.”
Allan paused a moment to collect his thoughts.
“I heard the brakes go on and saw the special sort of humping itself up in the effort to stop—”
“It was humping itself, and no mistake,” agreed the trainmaster. “And we were rattling around inside like dried peas in a pod.”
“And then,” Allan went on, “I thought I heard the trains come together, and things sort of went black before me; but I managed to pull myself together enough to report that the track was blocked. I was doing that when you came in.”
“Yes, I heard you. Now let’s find out how that freight got past West Junction. The operator there must have had an order to hold it until the special passed.”
He sat down before the key and called West Junction. The operator there, who had heard of the accident, answered almost instantly. At the same moment, the conductor and engineer of the freight, having assured themselves that no great damage had been done, and having replaced their shattered headlight by a lantern from the caboose, came in to report and ask for orders.
Mr. Schofield waited until he had received an answer to his question, then he closed the key and arose and faced them.
“The operator at West Junction says you left there at 6.20,” he said. “How does it come it took you nearly an hour to make eight miles?”