Dick sank back upon his haunches, bowing his bare head to bring it below the level of the open window.
There followed a stillness of waiting—stillness wrapped in the roar of the train.
A brushing sound on the door's window-ledge!
Throwing his head backwards, Dick saw, without raising his head, thick, dirty fingers on the split sill.
Lightly he touched them with his left hand. A head came in sight, rising diagonally across the frame it entered; and as it rose, so rose Dick's right hand, showing the steel blades of the Tiger's Claw.
The white face was jerked backward, the black-nailed fingers lost hold, and with a choked scream the whole body fell outward from the train, describing a curve towards the rear which just carried it free of the ballast, to land sideways on the turf of the slope, and roll.
The bank was high and steep, and the body was still rolling, when Dick turned his head to the sound of a door closing. His remaining enemy had shut himself in.
"Got 'em both," he said, facing Amaryllis, and dropping his greasy parcel once more in the rack.
"What's happened? Oh, that horrid scream!" she said, shaking.
"Your brave villain's taken a toss, darling," said Dick, sitting with an arm round her. "And the white-livered accomplice is dithering with funk in there." And he thumped the cushion of the partition. "We shall pull up at Todsmoor in a few minutes. Let's compose ourselves. You must be asleep in your corner——"