Ronald Standish by Sapper (Herman Cyril McNeile)

Author:Sapper (Herman Cyril McNeile) [Sapper (Herman Cyril McNeile)]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"WELL, I'll be danged. She's signalled through, and yet she's stopping, though she's late already. Be there summat up?"

The stationmaster of Marley Junction scratched his head, and stared at the oncoming express which was now slowing down rapidly.

"Isn't she supposed to stop?" Ronald Standish asked.

"No, sir; she ain't. There be a slip coach for here, but main part goes through."

Rows of heads were already protruding from carriage windows as the train came to a standstill, and the guard got out.

"What's the matter, Joe?" demanded the stationmaster.

"Murder's the matter," was the unexpected answer; and with a lift of his eyebrows Ronald turned to the other member of our little party.

"You seem to be having a busy time of it, Inspector," he said, and with an expression of relief the two railway officials turned round.

"Are you the police, sir?" cried the guard.

"I'm Inspector Grantham of Scotland Yard," answered the other, "What's that you say? Murder!"

"Yes, sir. And I'll be pleased if you can come this way, for we're a lot behind time. He's in the slip coach."

We followed him to the rear of the train, paying no attention to the excited conjectures of the passengers, several of whom had got out on the platform. And as we got to the back carriage an irascible-looking, elderly man, who might have been a retired colonel, an old clergyman and his wife, and a young man of perhaps thirty, with a worried expression on his face, descended.

The Inspector paused for a moment.

"This coach is separate from the rest of the train, I take it?" he said. "There's no connecting corridor?"

"That's so, sir," said the guard, "as you can see. No one can pass farther than my van, which is just in front of it."

"Then get the coach uncoupled. And all passengers, please, who were in this coach must wait."

He entered, and we followed him along the corridor of the carriage. The stationmaster had gone off to give the necessary orders; the guard accompanied us.

"Everything is as it was found, sir," he said. "After the train was stopped I travelled in this coach myself."

"Why did the train stop? I thought this was fast to Downwater?"

"Communication cord was pulled, sir, by the reverend gentleman."

The Inspector nodded.

"We'll go into that later," he said. "Where's the body?"

For answer, the guard opened the door of the centre compartment. On the seat by the opposite window was sprawling the body of a man. One hand hung limply downwards, and on the cushion and the carpet lay an ominous red pool. A glance was sufficient to show that he was dead, and that the cause of death was a wound in the head. The window was shut; his, suit-case littered up the rack; and in the opposite corner to the body a pair of wash-leather gloves was lying on the seat.

Suddenly Ronald gave a whistle.

"Good Lord!" he cried, "it's old Samuel Goldberg, the book maker."

"You know him?" said the Inspector.

"I've betted with him from time to time," Ronald answered. "But all in due course, for you'll have to do something about this train, Grantham.

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