"Putting on the sand," replied Jack, as he kicked at the plunger which, being depressed, let a stream of fine gravel out on the rails. "The wheels are gripped I think, and are slipping on the rails. This may help some."
"Let me give you a hand," exclaimed a voice, and the boys turned to see the shabby man standing with them on the platform. He grasped the brake handle, and gave it an additional turn. His strength seemed remarkable for so small a man.
The speed of the car was checked a little, but the vehicle was still speeding along at a rate that would soon bring it to destruction if not halted before the curve was reached.
"That's a little better," observed Mark. "It's a good thing you were here."
"Good for me, not so good for you," said the man with a peculiar smile.
"What do you mean?" asked Mark.
"I mean that I shall have to place you under arrest for attempting to assassinate Lord Peckham!" exclaimed the man. "I am Detective Ducket, of Scotland Yard!"
He stripped off a false beard he had donned, and threw back his coat, displaying his shield. He was the same man who had attempted to arrest the boys in the police station at Easton.
"I've got you just where I want you now," Detective Ducket went on. "There are none of those blooming American police to interfere."
The next instant the car gave a sudden lurch. Then it seemed to rise up in the air. Jack felt himself flying through space, and he observed Mark, who was clinging to the valise, following him.