The Beetle: A Mystery

  CHAPTER XLVII

  THE CONTENTS OF THE THIRD-CLASS CARRIAGE

  I moved to the stranger who was holding the lamp. He was in officialuniform.

  'Are you the guard of the 12.0 out from St Pancras?'

  'I am.'

  'Where's your train? What's happened?'

  'As for where it is, there it is, right in front of you, what's left ofit. As to what's happened, why, we're wrecked.'

  'What do you mean by you're wrecked?'

  'Some heavy loaded trucks broke loose from a goods in front and camerunning down the hill on top of us.'

  'How long ago was it?'

  'Not ten minutes. I was just starting off down the road to the signalbox, it's a good two miles away, when I saw you coming. My God! Ithought there was going to be another smash.'

  'Much damage done?'

  'Seems to me as if we're all smashed up. As far as I can make outthey're matchboxed up in front. I feel as if I was all broken up insideof me. I've been in the service going on for thirty years, and this isthe first accident I've been in.'

  It was too dark to see the man's face, but judging from his tone he waseither crying or very near to it.

  Our guard turned and shouted back to our engine,

  'You'd better go back to the box and let 'em know!'

  'All right!' came echoing back.

  The special immediately commenced retreating, whistling continually asit went. All the country side must have heard the engine shrieking, andall who did hear must have understood that on the line something wasseriously wrong.

  The smashed train was all in darkness, the force of the collision hadput out all the carriage lamps. Here was a flickering candle, there theglimmer of a match, these were all the lights which shone upon thescene. People were piling up debris by the side of the line, for thepurpose of making a fire,--more for illumination than for warmth.

  Many of the passengers had succeeded in freeing themselves, and weremoving hither and thither about the line. But the majority appeared tobe still imprisoned. The carriage doors were jammed. Without thenecessary tools it was impossible to open them. Every step we took ourears were saluted by piteous cries. Men, women, children, appealed tous for help.

  'Open the door, sir!' 'In the name of God, sir, open the door!'

  Over and over again, in all sorts of tones, with all degrees ofviolence, the supplication was repeated.

  The guards vainly endeavoured to appease the, in many cases,half-frenzied creatures.

  'All right, sir! If you'll only wait a minute or two, madam! We can'tget the doors open without tools, a special train's just started off toget them. If you'll only have patience there'll be plenty of help foreveryone of you directly. You'll be quite safe in there, if you'll onlykeep still.'

  But that was just what they found it most difficult to do--keep still!

  In the front of the train all was chaos. The trucks which had done themischief--there were afterwards shown to be six of them, together withtwo guards' vans--appeared to have been laden with bags of Portlandcement. The bags had burst, and everything was covered with what seemedgritty dust. The air was full of the stuff, it got into our eyes, halfblinding us. The engine of the express had turned a completesomersault. It vomited forth smoke, and steam, and flames,--everymoment it seemed as if the woodwork of the carriages immediately behindand beneath would catch fire.

  The front coaches were, as the guard had put it, 'match-boxed.' Theywere nothing but a heap of debris,--telescoped into one another in astate of apparently inextricable confusion. It was broad daylightbefore access was gained to what had once been the interiors. Thecondition of the first third-class compartment revealed anextraordinary state of things.

  Scattered all over it were pieces of what looked like partially burntrags, and fragments of silk and linen. I have those fragments now.Experts have assured me that they are actually neither of silk norlinen! but of some material--animal rather than vegetable--with whichthey are wholly unacquainted. On the cushions and woodwork--especiallyon the woodwork of the floor--were huge blotches,--stains of some sort.When first noticed they were damp, and gave out a most unpleasantsmell. One of the pieces of woodwork is yet in my possession,--with thestain still on it. Experts have pronounced upon it too,--with theresult that opinions are divided. Some maintain that the stain wasproduced by human blood, which had been subjected to a great heat, and,so to speak, parboiled. Others declare that it is the blood of somewild animal,--possibly of some creature of the cat species. Yet othersaffirm that it is not blood at all, but merely paint. While a fourthdescribes it as--I quote the written opinion which lies in front ofme--'caused apparently by a deposit of some sort of viscid matter,probably the excretion of some variety of lizard.'

  In a corner of the carriage was the body of what seemed a young mancostumed like a tramp. It was Marjorie Lindon.

  So far as a most careful search revealed, that was all the compartmentcontained.