line, had rolled out from the Chicago terminus Coleman had been able to follow its course by this chart as if he had been actually watching the train itself. He knew that she was six minutes late at Bassett's Crossing. A few minutes after this news arrived he received Jack Fletcher's telegram to his uncle from the president's private secretary.
"Will a passenger train be sent over the Arundel County branch today?" he read. He dictated the disappointing answer Jack had received at Bywater, and then forgot all about the incident. It meant nothing to him, had no significance, except as an idle question from the president's nephew, who perhaps wished to travel over the practically unused branch.
Some time later an operator remarked: "Express twenty minutes late at Bywater, sir." The Bywater operator had signalled the appearance of the express before he ran out to deliver the two telegrams to Jack Fletcher.
"What! Twenty minutes late?" Coleman railed out. "That's too much. Wire Sullivan at Weston"—a station thirty miles farther on—"to get a move on. He'll miss the connection for the mails at the junction, and then there will be the dickens to pay."
The operator wired as instructed. A long silence followed. It was just after seven o'clock, and at that time of day there were few local trains moving.
Suddenly Coleman jumped up and strode to the big chart.
"Has the express been heard of since she left Bywater?" he asked, with a scowl. "She passed there at six thirty-eight; it's twenty past seven now. Confound Sullivan. He's losing time instead of making it up."
No one answered Coleman's question, and he moved restlessly about the room.
"That fellow at Weston must be asleep," he cried at last. "Wilson, wake up Weston and find out why he hasn't reported the passing of the express."
The reply from Weston came promptly:—
"Express not passed."
Coleman, who was in his chair, leaped to his feet.
"He's asleep—he's a fool!" he raved. "I'll send a man there who's got eyes. Of course she's passed."
"There must have been an accident," suggested Wilson.
"Find out what train last passed Weston," roared Coleman.
In a moment the operator replied: "No. 75, bound east."
"Why, the express should have met her way beyond Weston. This is awful. Thirty minutes late!"
"Call Bywater," was Coleman's next order.
Bywater was called, but though the key rattled out the call again and again, there was no response.
"By thunder!" burst out Coleman. "I'll have a change right along this line. Now what's happened at Bywater?"
"No. 75 has not been reported from Bywater either," said Wilson. "She left Weston fifty minutes ago."
Another sounder clicked off a message.
"What's that?" asked Coleman.
"Carbridge—ten miles this side of Bywater—No. 75 just passed going east, on time to the minute."
"And Bywater didn't see her pass. That young man there can take a long holiday. But that does not explain the mystery. Where's the express?"
Wilson could not reply, and Coleman paced the long room like a caged lion.
"Here!" he cried suddenly; "ring up Woodford—seven miles east of Carbridge. Ask conductor of No. 75—it ought to be there shortly—'Where did you pass the express, and at what time?' "
Silence again; and then Wilson, as a sounder rattled, cried: "Here's Woodford."
The message from the conductor of No. 75 was: "Have not seen the express."
"What!" yelled Coleman.
He dashed for the key himself and clicked off to the waiting train at Woodford:—
"Any signs of wash-out or accident between Bywater and Weston?—Coleman, Train Despatcher."
The reply was prompt: "No; track clear."
Completely mystified, and frantic with anxiety Coleman's mind was scarcely fit to deal with the situation. The evidence he had collected meant either that several people had gone stark mad, or that he was face to face with a situation too preposterous for belief.
It was impossible, he argued, that a first-class train, consisting of two day coaches, a Pullman sleeper, a smoking-car, and observation-car, a baggage and a mail car drawn by the finest engine on the system, should melt into thin air. Too preposterous, indeed!
The situation was a terrible strain on Coleman. He was responsible for the movements of every train on the system. Had he made some little error that was responsible for a terrible disaster? This question, which worried him insistently, he was compelled to answer in the negative. He fell back, then, on the only possible explanation, and that was, he decided, that after leaving Bywater the express had left the rails; and with the entire train tumbled over a high embankment. The Bywater operator must be at the scene of the accident, and train No. 75 had steamed by rapidly without its conductor having an inkling of what had occurred. He pictured an appalling disaster, with a terrible roll of dead and wounded.
"There's a hand-truck at Weston Station, is there not?" he exclaimed suddenly.
"Yes, sir," replied Wilson.
"Wire the operator to run the truck to Bywater, and report if there has been an accident on the line."
"Yes, sir."
When the answer came it threw the distracted Coleman into a condition of hopeless despair.
The Weston operator reported that he had gone over the line on the hand-truck and found the line in perfect order with no sign of the express. He added that he had discovered the Bywater Station deserted, and later had found the Bywater operator lying unconscious beside the line with his head badly injured. It afterwards transpired that the unfortunate operator had been knocked on the head by the switch lever as it sprang back and closed the switch after the express had passed.
