The car is engulfed in pitchy darkness, save for a glimmer of diffused light that comes from the cars ahead.
"Hurry, won't you; I hate to be in darkness," says Golding, uneasily.
"I won't keep you waiting long," calls back Nevins, who is half way to the door.
He turns to look at the Magnate. A vague shadowy form is all that he can discern in the gloom.
"So here is where you are to end a life of mammon-worship," Nevins mutters as he steps upon the platform of the forward car.
He bends down, and with a strong, quick jerk uncouples the rear car.
For a few seconds the detached car keeps up with the train, then as its momentum is exhausted, a rapidly widening gap is made.
"In five minutes you will have light," Nevins calls grimly, as he looks at the fading car.
The train rushes ahead with speed that is imperceptibly increased. Nevins climbs to the top of the car and crawls toward the front of the train. He works his way to the coach immediately behind the motor. Standing on the platform he removes his coat and trousers and reappears arrayed in the common suit of a train hand. A soft cap completes the disguise.
A faint rumble reaches his ears.