Love and the Ironmonger

by F. J. Randall

"This is going to be a beanfeast, I can see," smiled the captive. "If I can't get out of this place I'll make some trouble for that officious old fool. Suspicious character, he said I was! What's this?—more old clothes?" He pulled a plaid overcoat from under a pile of parcels and examined it. In one of the pockets he found a flask of whisky which he tasted, and promptly abandoned. From that he made a searching investigation of the room, overhauling other people's property without respect to name or rank, and displaying an inquisitive curiosity in the contents of small handbags. A square tin box puzzled him completely. He tapped it, and peered into the small holes on the top.

"There's some mystery here," thought George. "Perhaps it's an infernal machine, put here by one of the station-master's enemies. A man like that is sure to have enemies. I'll open it."

This was easier said than done, but the most obstinate of boxes like the most intricate of locks must give way before the perseverance of man. George exerted all his strength in a supreme effort and pulled. He was successful; the lid flew off with unexpected suddenness, and the contents came out in a shower.

George put down the box and laughed. "Well," he said, "who'd have thought of finding frogs in a cloak-room. Go it, Snooks!"

Snooks' dog needed no urging, but jumped and twirled and barked with astounding rapidity. The frogs with equal mobility spread themselves over the room, and afforded the prisoner amusement for a good quarter of an hour. A small battalion of them found refuge in a large hamper filled with farm produce. George watched this attempt at ambush with great interest.

So far the prisoner's confinement had met with no interruption from without. Stealthy footsteps approached the door once, but on this occasion he contrived to push a handbag through the fanlight and had the satisfaction of knowing that Joe, the porter, received it on his head. A few rude country oaths from Joe were the last sign of life from the platform.

George had not entirely given up hopes of escape, and the sound of footsteps on the platform warning him that the next train was nearly due, he began to take note of his position. If he stayed quietly where he was the pursuers would come up with him, and never leave him until they had accomplished their purpose, which, of course, was obvious. They could easily smooth over the station-master with a five-pound note.

There was no way of escape but by smashing open the door, an almost impossible task; the window was barred, and the ceiling looked too strong for escape by way of the roof. One thing only offered a way out and that was the fire-place, which George examined with interest. It was a fire-place with a very large grate, and an immense fire-guard of closely plaited wire surrounding it. George surveyed it quietly for a few moments, then collected an armful of brown paper and stuffed it in the grate. Having seen that the trap was firmly pulled down to prevent any smoke ascending the chimney, he sat down to await the arrival of the train.

He had not long to wait; in a few minutes he heard the signal bell go, and immediately afterwards the clanging of a hand-bell and the stentorian voice of a porter announcing the London train.

George struck a match quickly, applied it to the paper in the grate, closed the fire-guard to prevent any danger, and crouched down by the door. In less than half a minute a volume of rich smoke ascended to the ceiling and began to pour through the fanlight.