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A PELTING rain volleyed against the great glass dome of the terminus, a roaring wind boomed in the roof. Passengers, hurrying along the platform, glistened in big coats and tweed caps pulled close over their ears. By the platform the night express was drawn up - a glittering mass of green and gold, shimmering with electric lights, warm, inviting, and cozy.

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Short story

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819901877
Langue	English

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I
T HE NIGHTEXPRESS
The Story of a Bank Robbery
By FRED M. WHITE
A PELTING rain volleyed against the great glass domeof the terminus, a roaring wind boomed in the roof. Passengers,hurrying along the platform, glistened in big coats and tweed capspulled close over their ears. By the platform the night express wasdrawn up – a glittering mass of green and gold, shimmering withelectric lights, warm, inviting, and cozy.
Most of the corridor carriages and sleeping berthswere full, for it was early in October still, and the Scotch exoduswas not just yet. A few late comers were looking anxiously out forthe guard. He came presently, an alert figure in blue and silver.Really, he was very sorry. But the train was unusually crowded, andhe was doing the best he could. He was perfectly aware of the factthat his questioners represented a Cabinet Minister on his way toBalmoral and a prominent Lothian baronet, but there are limits evento the power of an express guard, on the Grand Coast Railway."Well, what's the matter with this?" the Minister demanded. "Hereis an ordinary first-class coach that will do very well for us.Now, Catesby, unlock one of these doors and turn the lights on.""Very sorry, my lord," the guard explained, "but it can't be done.Two of the carriages in the coach are quite full, as you see, andthe other two are reserved. As a matter of fact, my lord, we aretaking a body down to Lydmouth. Gentleman who is going to be buriedthere. And the other carriage is for the Imperial Bank of Scotland.Cashier going up north with specie, you understand."
It was all plain enough, and disgustingly logical.To intrude upon the presence of a body was perfectly impossible; totry and force the hand of the bank cashier equally out of thequestion. As head of a great financial house, the Minister knewthat. A platform inspector bustled along presently, with his handto his gold-laced cap. "Saloon carriage being coupled up behind, mylord," he said.
The problem was solved. The guard glanced at hiswatch. It seemed to him that both the bank messenger and theundertaker were cutting it fine. The coffin came presently on ahand-truck – a black velvet pall lay over it, and on the sombrecloth a wreath or two of white lilies. The door of the carriage wasclosed presently, and the blinds drawn discreetly close. Followingbehind this came a barrow in charge of a couple of platform police.On the barrow were two square deal boxes, heavy out of allproportion to their size. These were deposited presently to thesatisfaction of a little nervous-looking man in gold-rimmedglasses. Mr. George Skidmore, of the Imperial Bank, had his shareof ordinary courage, but he had an imagination, too, and heparticularly disliked these periodical trips to branch banks, inconvoy, so to speak. He took no risks. "Awful night, sir," theguard observed. "Rather lucky to get a carriage to yourself, sir.Don't suppose you would have done so only we're taking a corpse asfar as Lydmouth, which is our first stop." "Really?" Skidmore saidcarelessly. "Ill wind that blows nobody good, Catesby. I may beovercautious, but I much prefer a carriage to myself. And my peopleprefer it, too. That's why we always give the railway authorities afew days' notice. One can't be too careful, Catesby."
The guard supposed not. He was slightly, yetdiscreetly, amused to see Mr. Skidmore glance under the seats ofthe first-class carriage. Certainly there was nobody either thereor on the racks. The carriage at the far side was locked, and so,now, was the door next the platform. The great glass dome wasbrilliantly lighted so that anything suspicious would have beendetected instantly. The guard's whistle rang out shrill and clear,and Catesby had a glimpse of Mr. Skidmore making himselfcomfortable as he swung himself into his van. The great green andgold serpent with the brilliant electric eyes fought its waysinuously into the throat of the wet and riotous night on its firststage of over two hundred miles. Lydmouth would be the firststop.
So far Mr. Skidmore had nothing to worry him,nothing, that is, except the outside chance of a bad accident. Hedid not anticipate, however, that some miscreant might deliberatelywreck the train on the off chance of looting those plain dealboxes. The class of thief that banks have to fear is not guilty ofsuch clumsiness. Unquestionably nothing could happen on this sideof Lydmouth. The train was roaring along now through the fiercegale at sixty odd miles an hour, Skidmore had the carriage tohimself, and was not the snug, brilliantly lighted compartment madeof steel? On one side was the carriage with the coffin; on theother side another compartment filled with a party of sportsmengoing North. Skidmore had noticed the four of them playing bridgejust before he slipped into his own carriage. Really, he hadnothing to fear. He lay back comfortably wondering how Poe orGaboriau would have handled such a situation with a successfulrobbery behind it. There are limits, of course, both to anovelist's imagination and a clever thief's process of invention.So, therefore....
Three hours and twenty minutes later the expresspulled up at Lydmouth. The station clock indicated the hour to be11.23. Catesby swung himself out of his van on to the shining wetplatform. Only one passenger was waiting there, but nobodyalighted. Catesby was sure of this, because he was on the flagsbefore a door could be opened. He came forward to give a hand withthe coffin in the compartment next to Skidmore's. Then he noticed,to his surprise, that the glass in the carriage window was smashed;he could see that the little cashier was huddled up strangely inone corner. And Catesby could see also that the two boxes ofbullion were gone!
Catesby's heart was thumping against his ribs as hefumbled with his key. He laid his hand upon Skidmore's shoulder,but the latter did not move. The fair hair hung in a mass on theside of his forehead, and here it was fair no longer. There was ahole with something horribly red and slimy oozing from it. Thecarpet on the floor was piled up in a heap; there were red smearson the cushions. It was quite evident that a struggle had takenplace here. The shattered glass in the window testified to that.And the boxes were gone, and Skidmore had been murdered by someassailant who had shot him through the brain. And this mysteriousantagonist had got off with the bullion, too.
A thing incredible, amazing, impossible; but thereit was. By some extraordinary method or another the audaciouscriminal had boarded an express train traveling at sixty miles anhour in the teeth of a gale. He had contrived to enter thecashier's carriage and remove specie to the amount of eightthousand pounds! It was impossible that only one man could havecarried it. But all the same it was gone.
Catesby pulled himself together. He was perfectlycertain that nobody at present on the train had been guilty of thisthing. He was perfectly certain that nobody had left the train.Nobody could have done so after entering the station without theguard's knowledge, and to have attempted such a thing on the farside of the river bridge would have been certain death to anybody.There was a long viaduct here – posts and pillars and chains, withtragedy lurking anywhere for the madman who attempted such a thing.And until the viaduct was reached the express had not slackenedspeed. Besides, the thief who had the courage and intelligence anddaring to carry out a robbery like this was not the man to leave anexpress train traveling at a speed of upwards of sixty miles anhour.
The train had to proceed, there was no help for it.There was a hurried conference between Catesby and thestationmaster; after that the electric lamps in the dead man'scarriage were unshipped, and the blinds pulled down. The matterwould be fully investigated when Edinburgh was reached, meanwhilethe stationmaster at Lydmouth would telephone the Scotch capitaland let them know there what they had to expect. Catesby crept intohis van again, very queer and dizzy, and with a sensation in hislegs suggestive of creeping paralysis. * * * * *
Naturally, the mystery of the night express caused agreat sensation. Nothing like it had been known since the greatcrime on the South Coast, which is connected with the name ofLefroy. But that was not so much a mystery as a man hunt. There thecriminal had been identified. But here there was no trace and noclue whatever. It was in vain that the Scotland Yard authoritiestried to shake the evidence of the guard, Catesby. He refused tomake any admissions that would permit the police even to build up atheory. He was absolutely certain that Mr. Skidmore had been alonein the carriage at the moment that the express left London; he wasabsolutely certain that he had locked the door of the compartment,and the engine driver could testify that the train had nevertraveled at a less speed than sixty miles an hour until the bridgeover the river leading into Lydmouth station was reached; even thennobody could have dropped off the train without the risk of certaindeath. Inspector Merrick was bound to admit this himself when hewent over the spot. And the problem of the missing bullion boxeswas quite as puzzling in its way as the mysterious way in which Mr.Skidmore had met his death.
There was no clue to this either. Certainly therehad been a struggle, or there would not have been blood marks allover the place, and the window would have remained intact. Skidmorehad probably been forced back into his seat, or he had collapsedthere after the fatal shot was fired. The unfortunate man had beenshot through the brain with an ordinary revolver of common pattern,so that for the purpose of proof the bullet was useless. There wereno finger marks on the carriage door, a proof that the murderer hadeither worn gloves or that he had carefully removed all traces witha cloth of some kind. It was obvious, too, that a criminal of thisclass would take no risks, especiall