The Duke Decides

by Headon Hill

But he was soon to learn that stations were not to be the only stopping-places for the 8.45 that night. It had come to a steep gradient, up which it was plodding laboriously, when suddenly there was a bumping thud that hurled Beaumanoir on to the opposite seat; the wheels screeched on the metals as if in agony; a tremor as of impending dissolution quivered through the framework of the carriage, and the train jerked to a standstill.

Beaumanoir had the door open instantly with his own private key, and clambering down on to the side of the line nearly fell into the arms of the guard, hurrying from the rear van towards the engine.

"Run into an obstruction, I expect, your Grace—nothing very serious, I hope," panted the guard as he went scrunching over the ballast to the center of disaster.

People were swarming out of the carriages, all of them evidently more frightened than hurt, and Beaumanoir strained his eyes through the leaping, scuffling figures to the compartment occupied by his enemies. Yes, there they were, and apparently the thing was to be done in character to the last. The tall, well-dressed man opened the door, called "Guard!" in the same old tone of importance, and, getting no response, began to leisurely descend on to the permanent way, followed by Marker, who feigned to hold no converse with him. At the same time there hastened up the man who had handed in the hatbox and rug, and then the three were swallowed up in the shadows beyond the radius of light from the carriage windows.

For the night had fallen inky dark, and outside that narrow band of artificial light all was as black as the nether pit. Shrieking women and agitated men appeared for a moment on the footboards and disappeared, directly they had traversed the short zone of light, into the outer gloom of the waste ground at the side of the railway.

Casting a comprehensive glance at his surroundings, the Duke saw that the accident had occurred at a lonely spot where the line was hemmed in on either hand by dense woods running right up to the rail-fence that bounded the track. Instinct prompted him to quit the dangerous proximity of his own compartment, and at the same time he desired to ascertain how long the delay was likely to last. This he could only do by proceeding to the front of the train, but to reach the engine would entail passing the place where the mysterious three lurked in the shadows. In order to avoid them, therefore, he darted across the zone of light, hoping to escape observation, dived under the train, and made his way forward on the other side of the line, shielded from his foes by the carriages.

One glance at the derailed engine sufficed to show him the nature of the accident, and to inform him of the reason for it. A barrier composed of baulks of timber, supplemented by heaped-up ballast, had been built across the six-foot way, and from the excited remarks of driver, stoker, and guard Beaumanoir gathered that the locomotive was so damaged that even when the obstruction was removed it would be unable to proceed under its own steam. The passengers would have to wait till a relief train came along, unless they elected to trudge three miles to the next or the last station.

It was all too plain to Beaumanoir that here was no accident at all, but an outrage designed to strand him in that lonely place, where amid the darkness and the confusion murder would come easy. The choice of the locality, half-way up a steep gradient where the speed would be reduced to a minimum, pointed to no desire to injure the passengers generally; indeed, there would have been an obvious intention to avoid a really perilous collision, seeing that some of the conspirators were on board. He could pretty accurately gauge Marker's functions now. The spy was to have kept close to him after the "accident," so as to signal his whereabouts in the darkness to the more active members of the gang.

The emissaries of Ziegler would have to dispense with that aid now, but still Beaumanoir could not shut his eyes to his imminent peril. The three who had traveled in the train were on the other side of the line, but the contingent—there would be at least two of them—who had wrecked the engine were probably lurking somewhere near. He could have no assurance that they were not at his very elbow, stealing on him through the dense undergrowth that fringed the fence.

A shout from the guard to the passengers congregated behind the train told him that at least half an hour must elapse before they could be picked up and carried on, and he at once decided that to stay at the spot would be intolerable. He should go mad if he remained at the mercy of invisible adversaries whom he could not hit back. If they would only come out into the open, in a body if they liked, so that he could empty the six chambers of his revolver into them before he went down, he would take his risks gladly; but to stand still in the dark, not knowing how soon a stab in the back would be his fate, was the thing too much. There and then he ended the situation by climbing the fence and plunging into the wood.