“There
has been a wreck and they have missed it. The special has obviously run
off the metals without disturbing the line—how it could have done so
passes my comprehension—but so it must be, and we shall have a wire from
Kenyon or Barton Moss presently to say that they have found her at the
bottom of an embankment.”

But Mr. Bland’s prophecy was not destined to be fulfilled. Half an hour
passed, and then there arrived the following message from the
station-master of Kenyon Junction:—

“There are no traces of the missing special. It is quite certain that
she passed here, and that she did not arrive at Barton Moss. We have
detached engine from goods train, and I have myself ridden down the
line, but all is clear, and there is no sign of any accident.”

Mr. Bland tore his hair in his perplexity. “This is rank lunacy, Hood!” he cried. “Does a train vanish into thin
air in England in broad daylight? The thing is preposterous. An engine,
a tender, two carriages, a van, five human beings—and all lost on a
straight line of railway! Unless we get something positive within the
next hour I’ll take Inspector Collins, and go down myself.”

And then at last something positive did occur. It took the shape of
another telegram from Kenyon Junction. “Regret to report that the dead body of John Slater, driver of the
special train, has just been found among the gorse bushes at a point two
and a quarter miles from the Junction. Had fallen from his engine,
pitched down the embankment, and rolled among bushes. Injuries to his
head, from the fall, appear to be cause of death. Ground has now been
carefully examined, and there is no trace of the missing train.”

The country was, as has already been stated, in the throes of a
political crisis, and the attention of the public was further distracted
by the important and sensational developments in Paris, where a huge
scandal threatened to destroy the Government and to wreck the
reputations of many of the leading men in France. The papers were full
of these events, and the singular disappearance of the special train
attracted less attention than would have been the case in more peaceful
times. The grotesque nature of the event helped to detract from its
importance, for the papers were disinclined to believe the facts as
reported to them. More than one of the London journals treated the
matter as an ingenious hoax, until the coroner’s inquest upon the
unfortunate driver (an inquest which elicited nothing of importance)
convinced them of the tragedy of the incident. Mr. Bland, accompanied by Inspector Collins, the senior detective
officer in the service of the company, went down to Kenyon Junction the
same evening, and their research lasted throughout the following day,
but was attended with purely negative results. Not only was no trace
found of the missing train, but no conjecture could be put forward which
could possibly explain the facts. At the same time, Inspector Collins’s
official report (which lies before me as I write) served to show that
the possibilities were more numerous than might have been expected. “In the stretch of railway between these two points,” said he, “the
country is dotted with ironworks and collieries. Of these, some are
being worked and some have been abandoned. There are no fewer than
twelve which have small gauge lines which run trolly-cars down to the
main line. These can, of course, be disregarded. Besides these, however,
there are seven which have or have had, proper lines running down and
connecting with points to the main line, so as to convey their produce
from the mouth of the mine to the great centres of distribution. In
every case these lines are only a few miles in length. Out of the seven,
four belong to collieries which are worked out, or at least to shafts
which are no longer used. These are the Redgauntlet, Hero, Slough of
Despond, and Heartsease mines, the latter having ten years ago been one
of the principal mines in Lancashire. These four side lines may be
eliminated from our inquiry, for, to prevent possible accidents, the
rails nearest to the main line have been taken up, and there is no
longer any connection. There remain three other side lines leading—

 (_a_) To the Carnstock Iron Works;

 (_b_) To the Big Ben Colliery;

 (_c_) To the Perseverance Colliery. “Of these the Big Ben line is not more than a quarter of a mile long,
and ends at a dead wall of coal waiting removal from the mouth of the
mine. Nothing had been seen or heard there of any special. The Carnstock
Iron Works line was blocked all day upon the 3rd of June by sixteen
truckloads of hematite. It is a single line, and nothing could have
passed. As to the Perseverance line, it is a large double line, which
does a considerable traffic, for the output of the mine is very large. On the 3rd of June this traffic proceeded as usual; hundreds of men,
including a gang of railway platelayers, were working along the two
miles and a quarter which constitute the total length of the line, and
it is inconceivable that an unexpected train could have come down there
without attracting universal attention. It may be remarked in conclusion
that this branch line is nearer to St. Helens than the point at which
the engine-driver was discovered, so that we have every reason to
believe that the train was past that point before misfortune overtook
her. “As to John Slater, there is no clue to be gathered from his appearance
or injuries. We can only say that, so far as we can see, he met his end
by falling off his engine, though why he fell, or what became of the
engine after his fall, is a question upon which I do not feel qualified
to offer an opinion.” In conclusion, the inspector offered his
resignation to the Board, being much nettled by an accusation of
incompetence in the London papers. A month elapsed, during which both the police and the company prosecuted
their inquiries without the slightest success. A reward was offered and
a pardon promised in case of crime, but they were both unclaimed. Every
day the public opened their papers with the conviction that so grotesque
a mystery would at last be solved, but week after week passed by, and a
solution remained as far off as ever. In broad daylight, upon a June
afternoon in the most thickly inhabited portion of England, a train with
its occupants had disappeared as completely as if some master of subtle
chemistry had volatilized it into gas. Indeed, among the various
conjectures which were put forward in the public Press there were some
which seriously asserted that supernatural, or, at least, preternatural,
agencies had been at work, and that the deformed Monsieur Caratal was
probably a person who was better known under a less polite name. Others
fixed upon his swarthy companion as being the author of the mischief,
but what it was exactly which he had done could never be clearly
formulated in words.