WHY THE EXPRESS WAS LATE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 12003, 27 June 1902, Page 3

WHY THE EXPRESS WAS LATE.

We had lost two minutes outside the junction owing to a mistake by the signalman, and I was doing my best to get the passengers into their places, and to gain a minute on them if I could. One old lady in a second-class carriage gave me a lot of trouble.

"Are you sure my black box is in the van, guard ':" "Yes, ma'am." "And my hatboxa white cardboard one, tied with string V Yes, ma'am—ves." " And—"

" Everything is in, ma'amthere's nothing on the platform." " But are you sure— she was beginning, when 1 whistled, and the train moved slowly out.

We were keen on our punctuality on the 6.47 down, and Tom Bridges, tho enginedriver, and I worked together as much as ever we could. When he was a minute or two behind I helped him at the stations; and if I could not get off in time he did his best for mo between them. When I had climbed into my van I thought of the old lady in the second, and had a look round for that black box of hers. 1 knew that nothing had been left behind at the junction, although, of course, I hadn't noticed particularly whether her things had been put in; and as for the black box well, there were four of them, so one of them was most likely to bo hers. I didn't see a bandbox; but tha„ I thought she had most likely in the carriage with her. At Brockleham, our next stop, the old lady in the second called to me again. "Guard," she whispered, there's a man in the carriage." " Well, ma'am," I said, " you can't expect to keep the carriage to yourself, you know; and the gentleman is not smoking." " No; but, guard, I'm very nervous of strange men, aiid-4;md —and I'm sure he's goiug to smoke. There's not a stop for quite an hour, is there '!" "Not for sixty-eight minutes, ma'am." And I moved off.

But she called to me again, put a shilling into my hand, and whispered: "Guard, I am so nervous of that man !" Now, I had been reading in an evening paper, which a passenger had givon me at the junction, of the escape of Harry Saunders, the convict who had just got ten years for forgery, and for a moment I thought perhaps the man who had made the old lady so nervous might be somebody whom the police would like to have a chat with. I glanced at him, and just as I did so he looked up and laughed—the cheeriest, jolliest kind of laugh you ever heard. "If the lady's nervous, guard, and you will give me a hand with this bag, I'll change carriages with pleasure." And out he jumped. "Thank you so much !" crooned the old lady; and to my astonishment I got another shilling. That time I hunted up the bandbox, and found it—open. I laughed when I did find it, for there was nothing in it but an empty birdcage. And as I lit my pipe I pondered over the ways of women. We ran through Isbister and Newcomo splendidly, and I was looking at my watch, and thinking that if we had luck with the signals we should get in. five minutes ahead of time instead of after it, as both Tom and I had thought we should, when suddenly the alarm bell rang. I rushed at the brake—my first thought was of Saunders; somehow, I suppose, because I'd been reading about his case—and after communicating with Tom on the engine, and thinking how furious he'd be at the delay. Fran down the train to see whore the alarm had been pulled. Probably because I'd been thinking about the forger, Saunders, and because the cheerful second had frightened, the old lady, who gave me the two shillings to get rid of him, I made straight for the carriage where I'd put him. He was asleep in the corner, or seemed to be asleep, and his alarm had not been touched. I went on down the train, looking into the carriages, and when I came to the one where my old lady was, sure enough there she stood afc the window, beckoning to me wildly. "It's all right," I said: ".don't bo nervous." For I was afraid that she would insist on getting out upon the line, or something, and refuse to go on till the train was safe.

But that was not what was the matter this time.

"What is if, ma'am? I can't stop now," I said.

"Eli?" said she, cocking her head on one side. " Eh, what? Speak louder." "There's no danger, ma'am!" I shouted, for she was evidently leaf as a post. "Dinner? Yes, that's want I want." "You'll get it at the terminus, madam!" I yelled. "I can't stop to talk to you now. The bell's been rung." She heard that.

"Yes, I rung if," she said, and sure enough, when I climbed on the footboard, there was her alarm-bell pulled out.

" Why, what ever is the matter? You're all Ana What did you ring the bell for?" I was getting angry, for we had lost sir precious minutes, and the passengers were getting down on to the line and crowding round the door.

" I want a dinner-basket," said the old lady, smiling at. me. "Didn't I give you two shillings at the last place we stopped?" I took the coins from my pocket and handed them back to her.

"T can't get you a dinner-basket, madam, half-way down the line, and you'll find it costs more than two shillings to .stop the express for foolishness like tins." " I can't hear you," she said again, and smiled that irritating smile of hers. Perfectly furious with the old woman, I jumped into the carriage, and pointed to the printed regulations. "You can read, I suppose, if you can't hear," I said; "five or ten pounds this little game will cost you." " Five pounds," she said; "no, two shillings," and she smiled again, and pointed to an advertisement beside the alarm-notice: Dinner-baskets, ?,s." It was just next to the other, and (he old dame ran her finger along the printed line. "Perhaps 3*oll can read, guard, if you cannot keep your temper," she remarked. "There it is as plain as can be : 'Ring the bell. Dinner-baskets, 2s.' I want a dinnerbasket, and I rang for it. If you have none, you shouldn't advertise!" Well, there was no time to explain that there were two notices posted up a little too close together, so 1 got the passengers back into their seats, and determined to let my second-class passengers fight the matter out with the stationmaster when we reached Cricklehurst.

There was a little crowd on th*- platform at Cricklehurst when we got in, and the stationmaster and two or three porters ran along the side of the train shouting to the passengers to keep their seats. : "Another wait," I thought. ' "Well, luck is dead against us this trip." I ran down to the stationmaster, and was beginning to tell him about the old lady and the dinner-basket, when ho cut me short and said : " Tell me all that in a moment. I've got half-a-dozen detectives down from Scotland Yard. They say the escaped convict, Harry Saunders, is at Cricklehurst." But he wasn't in the train. The detectives searched every carriage, and even went the length of pulling my cheerful passenger's red whiskers, to sec if they were real. But no convict was on board. "Well, if you're satisfied, gentlemen," said the stationmaster, who was wild at having the train delayed for nothing, "we'll start her."

But I thought I'd tetter tell him about the old lady and the dinner-basket, and I did. She wouldn't admit that she'd done wrong. "I'll sue the- company, I will!" she cried as she. went off behind her luggage, just as the train steamed out. Next morning every policeman in Cricklehurst was hunting high and low for her. It wasn't much use. She'd gone back to London by the- first up train, I think, and in the course of the day. when T came through again, the stationmaster told me that he'd had a telegram signed " Saunders," asking him to thank the guard of the 6.47 for stopping the train so nicely when the alarm rang, and letting him get out on the offside of the lino. The forger had been in the old lady s carriage all the time, hidden under the seat, ever since we got out of Brock! eh am (he was a little man. I understand), and all that fuss she made about the dinner-basket had, of course, been arranged between them to give him time to get away. I suppose he knew the Scotland Yard men would bo waiting for him.