Lessingham’s contortions were a study.  Few of that large multitude of persons who are acquainted with him only by means of the portraits which have appeared in the illustrated papers, would then have recognised the rising statesman.  Yet I believe that few things could have better fallen in with his mood than that wild travelling.  He might have been almost shaken to pieces,—­but the very severity of the shaking served to divert his thoughts from the one dread topic which threatened to absorb them to the exclusion of all else beside.  Then there was the tonic influence of the element of risk.  The pick-me-up effect of a spice of peril.  Actual danger there quite probably was none; but there very really seemed to be.  And one thing was absolutely certain, that if we did come to smash while going at that speed we should come to as everlasting smash as the heart of man could by any possibility desire.  It is probable that the knowledge that this was so warmed the blood in Lessingham’s veins.  At any rate as—­to use what in this case, was simply a form of speech—­I sat and watched him, it seemed to me that he was getting a firmer hold of the strength which had all but escaped him, and that with every jog and jolt he was becoming more and more of a man.

On and on we went dashing, clashing, smashing, roaring, rumbling.  Atherton, who had been endeavouring to peer through the window, strained his lungs again in the effort to make himself audible.

‘Where the devil are we?’

Looking at my watch I screamed back at him.

’It’s nearly one, so I suppose we’re somewhere in the neighbourhood of Luton.—­Hollo!  What’s the matter?’

That something was the matter seemed certain.  There was a shrill whistle from the engine.  In a second we were conscious—­almost too conscious—­of the application of the Westinghouse brake.  Of all the jolting that was ever jolted! the mere reverberation of the carriage threatened to resolve our bodies into their component parts.  Feeling what we felt then helped us to realise the retardatory force which that vacuum brake must be exerting,—­it did not seem at all surprising that the train should have been brought to an almost instant stand-still.

Simultaneously all three of us were on our feet.  I let down my window and Atherton let down his,—­he shouting out,

’I should think that Inspector’s wire hasn’t had it’s proper effect, looks as if we’re blocked—­or else we’ve stopped at Luton.  It can’t be Bedford.’

It wasn’t Bedford—­so much seemed clear.  Though at first from my window I could make out nothing.  I was feeling more than a trifle dazed,—­there was a singing in my ears,—­the sudden darkness was impenetrable.  Then I became conscious that the guard was opening the door of his compartment.  He stood on the step for a moment, seeming to hesitate.  Then, with a lamp in his hand, he descended on to the line.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.