He blinked his odd, dark eyes and smiled at Jack, who was sitting up on his couch. His coat and vest had been removed, and his head throbbed rather wildly.
“What happened, sir?” he asked. “I remember the car running away, and then I made for the brakes—that was after the conductor and the motorman jumped—but after that it’s all confused.”
“No wonder,” was the reply. “I dragged you and this other lad out of a mass of débris. Had it not been that a heavy beam protected you from being crushed, you would have undoubtedly been killed.”
“The car was smashed, then?”
“It is a complete wreck. The conductor and the motorman were but slightly injured so that you all came safely out of it by a miracle, as it were.”
“We don’t know your name, but we are deeply grateful to you for all that you have done for us,” declared Jack. “My name is Chadwick, and this is my cousin and chum, Tom Jesson.”
“Chadwick?” repeated the man, with the manner of one who recalls a familiar name. “Are you any relation of the famous Professor Chadwick, the inventor?”
“I am his son,” rejoined Jack, not without a ring of pride in his voice.
“Then you must be one of the lads who went through those extraordinary adventures in connection with the wonderful vanishing gun which you helped Mr. Pythias Peregrine perfect?”
“We are the same boys,” replied Jack smilingly, “but so far as helping Mr. Peregrine was concerned, I’m afraid we got him into more trouble than anything else.”