"If that is the case, we'll have to be doing something on our own account. The next obstruction may derail us."
Halkett stepped into the car and pulled the cord of the automatic air.
"No good," he muttered. "The Irishman bled our tank before he started. Help me set the hand brakes, a couple of you."
Danforth and the governor took hold of the brake wheel with him, and for a minute or two the terrible speed slackened a little. Then some part of the disused hand-gear gave way under the three-man strain and that hope was gone.
"There's one thing left," said the superintendent, indomitable to the last. "We'll uncouple and let him drop us behind."
The space in the forward vestibule was narrow and cramped, and with the strain of the dragging car to make the pin stick, it took two of them lying flat, waiting for the back-surging moment and wiggling it for slack, to pull it. The coupling dropped out of the hook and the engine shot ahead to the length of the safety-chains; thus far, but no farther.
Halkett stood up.
"It's up to you, Danforth," he said, raising his voice to be heard above the pounding roar of the wheels. "You're the youngest and lightest: get down on the 1010's brake-beam and unhook those chains."
The secretary looked once into the trap with the dodging jaws and the backward-flying bottom and declined the honor.
"I can't get down there," he cried. "And I shouldn't know what to do if I could."