She hesitated.
“I don’t know what it is,” she said shaking her head. “It is a curious feeling that I get when I meet one man in the world. A feeling that makes my heart turn to ice and makes me tremble. That is all it is, Mike—how do you think they are going to do it?”
Her thoughts had gone back to the approaching end.
“Heaven knows,” said Michael. “I haven’t any time to think of it. I am thinking of something else. Why do they keep the steam up in that engine?” he asked.
“It was Gregori’s idea,” she said; “he had the hole filled in today and the buffer taken down. He thought it might be useful to let the engine run on to the main line and block it. That is, if we had word that they were sending a lot of police down to search this part of the country.”
“Here they are,” said Michael; “help me to sit up.”
She raised him to a sitting position as the door opened and a dim figure appeared silhouetted against the dusk. It struck a match and lit a candle and Dr. Garon was revealed. He placed the candle carefully upon the floor just behind the half-closed door and passed slowly over to where Michael lay.
“Well, my young sleuth,” he said pleasantly, “the best of friends must part.”
“Fortunately,” said Michael, “I do not fall into the category of your friends.”
The doctor hummed a little tune as he took a small leather case from his pocket.
“You have seen a hypodermic syringe before, I suppose?” he held up the tiny instrument. “I am going to give you a slight dope, which won’t hurt you.”
“One moment,” said Michael, “do I understand that this dope is—final?”
The doctor bowed. From his heightened colour and his unsteady hand Michael guessed he had been drinking, either to give himself nerve for his task or to drown the memory of his misfortune.
“Very good,” said Michael. He looked up at the girl and raised his face and Kate stooped and kissed him on the lips.
“That is it, is it?” said the doctor unpleasantly. “Gregori will be pleased.”
He caught the manacled wrists of the prisoner and pulled back his sleeve and the girl’s heart almost ceased to beat.
It was at that moment that the light went out.
“Who is there?” said the doctor releasing his grip on Michael’s arm and turning quickly.
He took a groping step forward through the darkness.
“Who’s there?” he said again and they heard a soft thud followed by the sound that a body might make, when it struck the ground.
Michael caught his breath. Suddenly a beam of light danced in the room and focused upon the prostrate figure of Dr. Garon.
“Got him,” said a well-satisfied voice.
“Barr,” whispered Michael, “where did you spring from?”
“I came through the door,” said the voice. “Did you see it open? That is what knocked the candle over.”
He flashed the light on his superior.
“They have got the bracelets on you, sir,” he chuckled softly, took a key from his pocket and with a few deft turns released the other. His pocket knife finished the work.
Michael stretched his cramped limbs.
“I tried to get in last night but they had too many sentries—I couldn’t come here or get back to a telephone. I have been lying on that hillside all last night and all today,” said Detective-Sergeant Barr. “I dared not move until it was dark. I tell you, sir, I had a bit of a fright. I thought they would get away.”
“Have you a revolver?” asked his chief.
The man slipped a weapon into his hand. They made their way softly back through the room where the engine was still smoking, through the little steel door of the office. It was empty save for a shrouded figure which lay beneath the table. There was a second door in the room. Michael tried this. It was locked. He heard voices and tapped at the door.
“Who is there?” said Gregori.
“Open the door,” said Michael.
“Who is there?” demanded Gregori again.
“Open, in the name of the law,” said Michael.
He heard a shuffle of feet and an oath and stood waiting, his pistol extended but the door did not open. A sudden silence came.
“Is there any way out of here?”
“There is a door leading into the shed where the engine is,” said the girl. She was white and trembling … that shrouded figure under the table had been the last straw.
Michael dashed out into the shed but it was too late.
As his feet crossed the foothold a bullet struck the steel door and ricochetted to the roof. In the dim light offered by an oil flare he saw Mulberry and Stockmar hoisting the inanimate figure of Dr. Garon to the cab of the engine. He fired twice and Cunningham stumbled but was dragged into the cab. Then with a mighty schuff! which reverberated through the building the engine began to move toward the closed door. It gathered speed in the dozen yards or so it had to traverse and then with a crash it struck the gate, splintering and sending it flying.
Michael flew the length of the shed and arrived at the outer gates in time to see the engine disappearing round the edge of the bluff. Barr was at his side and the two men stood helpless, as their enemies gradually receded into the grey dusk.
“There is a telephone here,” said Michael quickly, “but it is probably laid for their own purpose.”
“I left my motorbike on the top of the hill somewhere, sir,” said Barr.
“Get on to it,” said Michael.
He stood listening to the sound of the locomotive going faster and faster. A hand touched his timidly.
“Did they get away?”
He slipped his arm round the girl.
“I am afraid they have,” he said.
He was turning back to the shed when the roar of an explosion set the building trembling.
“What was that?” whispered the girl.
They walked back to the end of the bluff. There was no need for him to
