‘Where the devil are we?’
Looking at my watch I screamed back at him.
‘It’s nearly one, so I suppose we’re somewhere in the neighbourhood of Luton.—Hollo! What’s the matter?’
That something was the matter seemed certain. There was a shrill whistle from the engine. In a second we were conscious—almost too conscious—of the application of the Westinghouse brake. Of all the jolting that was ever jolted! the mere reverberation of the carriage threatened to resolve our bodies into their component parts. Feeling what we felt then helped us to realise the retardatory force which that vacuum brake must be exerting,—it did not seem at all surprising that the train should have been brought to an almost instant standstill.
Simultaneously all three of us were on our feet. I let down my window and Atherton let down his,—he shouting out,
‘I should think that Inspector’s wire hasn’t had it’s proper effect, looks as if we’re blocked—or else we’ve stopped at Luton. It can’t be Bedford.’
It wasn’t Bedford—so much seemed clear. Though at first from my window I could make out nothing. I was feeling more than a trifle dazed,—there was a singing in my ears,—the sudden darkness was impenetrable. Then I became conscious that the guard was opening the door of his compartment. He stood on the step for a moment, seeming to hesitate. Then, with a lamp in his hand, he descended on to the line.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.
‘Don’t know, sir. Seems as if there was something on the road. What’s up there?’
This was to the man on the engine. The fireman replied: