CHAPTER II. THE END OF THE JOURNEY
Southward, with low funnel belching forth fire and smoke into theblackness of the night, the huge engine, with its solitary salooncarriage and guard's brake, thundered its way through the night towardsthe great metropolis. Across the desolate plain, stripped bare of allvegetation, and made hideous forever by the growth of a mighty industry,where the furnace fires reddened the sky, and only the unbroken line ofceaseless lights showed where town dwindled into village and suburbsled back again into town. An ugly, thickly populated neighborhood, whosearea of twinkling lights seemed to reach almost to the murky skies;hideous, indeed by day, not altogether devoid now of a certain weirdattractiveness by reason of low-hung stars. On, through many tunnelsinto the black country itself, where the furnace fires burned oftener,but the signs of habitation were fewer. Down the great iron way thehuge locomotive rushed onward, leaping and bounding across the mazeof metals, tearing past the dazzling signal lights, through crowdedstations where its passing was like the roar of some earth-shakingmonster. The station-master at Crewe unhooked his telephone receiver andrang up Liverpool.
"What about this special?" he demanded.
"Passenger brought off from the Lusitania in a private tug. Orders areto let her through all the way to London."
"I know all about that," the station-master grumbled. "I have threelocals on my hands already,--been held up for half an hour. Old Glynn,the director's, in one of them too. Might be General Manager to hear himswear."
"Is she signalled yet?" Liverpool asked.
"Just gone through at sixty miles an hour," was the reply. "She made ourold wooden sheds shake, I can tell you. Who's driving her?"
"Jim Poynton," Liverpool answered. "The guvnor took him off the mailspecially."
"What's the fellow's name on board, anyhow?" Crewe asked. "Is it amillionaire from the other side, trying to make records, or a member ofour bloated aristocracy?"
"The name's Fynes, or something like it," was the reply. "He didn't lookmuch like a millionaire. Came into the office carrying a small handbagand asked for a special to London. Guvnor told him it would take twohours and cost a hundred and eighty pounds. Told him he'd better waitfor the mail. He produced a note from some one or other, and youshould have seen the old man bustle round. We started him off in twentyminutes."
The station-master at Crewe was interested. He knew very well that itis not the easiest thing in the world to bring influence to bear upon agreat railway company.
"Seems as though he was some one out of the common, anyway," heremarked. "The guvnor didn't let on who the note was from, I suppose?"
"Not he," Liverpool answered. "The first thing he did when he came backinto the office was to tear it into small pieces and throw them on thefire. Young Jenkins did ask him a question, and he shut him up prettyquick."
"Well, I suppose we shall read all about it in the papers tomorrow,"Crewe remarked. "There isn't much that these reporters don't get holdof. He must be some one out of the common--some one with a pull, Imean,--or the captain of the Lusitania would never have let him offbefore the other passengers. When are the rest of them coming through?"
"Three specials leave here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning," was thereply. "Good night."
The station-master at Crewe hung up his receiver and went about hisduties. Twenty miles southward by now, the special was still tearing itsway into the darkness. Its solitary passenger had suddenly developed afit of restlessness. He left his seat and walked once or twice up anddown the saloon. Then he opened the rear door, crossed the little openspace between, and looked into the guard's brake. The guard was sittingupon a stool, reading a newspaper. He was quite alone, and so absorbedthat he did not notice the intruder. Mr. Hamilton Fynes quietlyretreated, closing the door behind him. He made his way once morethrough the saloon, passed the attendant, who was fast asleep in hispantry, and was met by a locked door. He let down the window andlooked out. He was within a few feet of the engine, which was obviouslyattached direct to the saloon. Mr. Hamilton Fynes resumed his seat,having disturbed nobody. He produced some papers from his breast pocket,and spread them out on the table before him. One, a sealed envelope, heimmediately returned, slipping it down into a carefully prepared placebetween the lining and the material of his coat. Of the others hecommenced to make a close and minute investigation. It was a curiousfact, however, that notwithstanding his recent searching examination, helooked once more nervously around the saloon before he settled down tohis task. For some reason or other, there was not the slightest doubtthat for the present, at any rate, Mr. Hamilton Fynes was exceedinglyanxious to keep his own company. As he drew nearer to his journey's end,indeed, his manner seemed to lose something of that composure of which,during the earlier part of the evening, he had certainly been possessed.Scarcely a minute passed that he did not lean sideways from his seat andlook up and down the saloon. He sat like a man who is perpetually onthe qui vive. A furtive light shone in his eyes, he was manifestlyuncomfortable. Yet how could a man be safer from espionage than he!
Rugby telephoned to Liverpool, and received very much the same answer asCrewe. Euston followed suit.
"Who's this you're sending up tonight?" the station-master asked."Special's at Willington now, come through without a stop. Is some onetrying to make a record round the world?"
Liverpool was a little tired of answering questions, and more than alittle tired of this mysterious client. The station-master at Euston,however, was a person to be treated with respect.
"His name is Mr. Hamilton Fynes, sir," was the reply. "That is all weknow about him. They have been ringing us up all down the line, eversince the special left."
"Hamilton Fynes," Euston repeated. "Don't know the name. Where did hecome from?"
"Off the Lusitania, sir."
"But we had a message three hours ago that the Lusitania was not landingher passengers until tomorrow morning," Euston protested.
"They let our man off in a tug, sir," was the reply.
"It went down the river to fetch him. The guvnor didn't want to give hima special at this time of night, but he just handed him a note, and wemade things hum up here. He was on his way in half an hour. We have hadto upset the whole of the night traffic to let him through without astop."
Such a client was, at any rate, worth meeting. The station-masterbrushed his coat, put on his silk hat, and stepped out on to theplatform.