"No!" panted the Secretary.
"Then come too!" he cried, and rising up, he threw his arms about him, and gathered himself to spring on to the rails in front of the train. All seemed over, the cry of the porter rang in Stanley's ears, the rattle of the train deafened him, the hot breath of the engine seemed blowing in his face. Then somehow his foot caught his opponent's, and the next instant they were falling—to death or life—he could not tell.
A second later they lay prone on the platform. The express had passed them, and vanished in a cloud of dust.
In a moment the porter was assisting them to arise.
"A narrow escape for Mr. Riddle," said the Secretary to the porter, as he picked himself up and recovered his hat, which had rolled to one side. "A very narrow escape from what might have been a nasty accident."
"Accident!" exclaimed the porter, with a sarcasm which spoke louder than words.
"I said accident," replied Stanley, slipping a sovereign into the man's hand, and looking him straight in the eyes.
"Oh, quite right, sir. Accident it was. Thank ye, sir," and the porter shuffled off, leaving them alone.
"I suppose you think you've been very clever," said Mr. Riddle, when they were by themselves, "but I'll cheat you yet, never fear," and his hand unconsciously sought a hidden pocket.
"You need be under no apprehensions," the Secretary replied calmly. "I shan't interfere to save your life again, or to prevent you from taking it. I was moved to act as I did solely for the reason that I couldn't bear to see any man throw away so priceless a possession, owing to a misapprehension."