“Well, if it had been me,” remarked the trainmaster, “I’d have noticed that wind blowing down my back before this. But we don’t seem to be getting much nearer the solution of this accident—or, rather, we haven’t discovered yet why it didn’t happen.”
“Why it didn’t happen?” repeated Allan.
“Yes. Let us review the circumstances. At 6.20, this D. W. & I. freight passes West Junction, with right of way to Byers Junction until 7.08. That gives it forty-eight minutes to make a run which is usually made in twenty-five or less. But it develops a hot-box and bursts an air-hose and is delayed about half an hour. Still, it would have reached here a minute or so ahead of time, and it certainly had the right of way until 7.08.
“You, however, have received no order for this freight, and thinking the track from here to West Junction clear, you set your signals accordingly for the special which is nearly due, and which passes at 7.05. Just as it is passing, you hear the freight approaching, and throw the signal over. But the engineer, being almost upon it, doesn’t see it. An instant later, however, a torpedo explodes, and the engineer manages to stop the train and begin backing before the freight hits it. The engineer of the freight, meanwhile, has seen the signal change, and then sees another headlight rushing down upon him, and manages to get his train pretty well under control before the crash comes. So not much damage is done. But why? What was to keep the special from dashing itself to pieces against the freight?”
“It was the torpedo,” answered Allan.
“Precisely. The torpedo. And where did the torpedo come from? Did it drop from heaven at precisely the right instant? I don’t believe in that sort of miracle. Did it just happen to be there? That would be a miracle, too. No, I believe that some one, at that spot, heard the trains coming, or saw you swing the signal up, realized what was about to happen, and placed that torpedo on the track. Now, who was it?”
Allan, of course, was utterly unable to answer.
“And whoever it was,” added the trainmaster, “why doesn’t he come and tell about it? A fellow who does a thing like that has no reason to run away and hide.”
He stopped, chewing the end of his cigar nervously, a wrinkle of perplexity between his eyes.
“He must have been a railroad man,” went on the trainmaster; “a brakeman, conductor, or section-man, or he wouldn’t have had that torpedo in his pocket. Unless it was a tramp who’d stolen it. But a tramp would have been here long ago to claim his reward; and a railroad man would have come to make his report. No; I can’t understand it.”