‘Someone in front there’s waving a red light like mad,—lucky I caught sight of him, we should have been clean on top of him in another moment. Looks as if there was something wrong. Here he comes.’
As my eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness I became aware that someone was making what haste he could along the six-foot way, swinging a red light as he came. Our guard advanced to meet him, shouting as he went:
‘What’s the matter! Who’s that?’
A voice replied,
‘My God! Is that George Hewett. I thought you were coming right on top of us!’
Our guard again.
‘What! Jim Branson! What the devil are you doing here, what’s wrong? I thought you were on the twelve out, we’re chasing you.’
‘Are you? Then you’ve caught us. Thank God for it!—We’re a wreck.’
I had already opened the carriage door. With that we all three clambered out on to the line.