“Run into an obstruction, I expect, your Grace—nothing very serious, I hope,” panted the guard as he went scrunching over the ballast to the center of disaster.
People were swarming out of the carriages, all of them evidently more frightened than hurt, and Beaumanoir strained his eyes through the leaping, scuffling figures to the compartment occupied by his enemies. Yes, there they were, and apparently the thing was to be done in character to the last. The tall, well-dressed man opened the door, called “Guard!” in the same old tone of importance, and, getting no response, began to leisurely descend on to the permanent way, followed by Marker, who feigned to hold no converse with him. At the same time there hastened up the man who had handed in the hatbox and rug, and then the three were swallowed up in the shadows beyond the radius of light from the carriage windows.
For the night had fallen inky dark, and outside that narrow band of artificial light all was as black as the nether pit. Shrieking women and agitated men appeared for a moment on the footboards and disappeared, directly they had traversed the short zone of light, into the
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