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It was a fine night and he walked ho into a bus which took hiot in and Bertraht usually preserved a decorous appearance of everyone having gone to bed The lift was on a higher floor so the Canon walked up the stairs He came to his room, inserted the key in the lock, threw the door open and entered!

Good gracious, was he seeing things? But who—how—he saw the upraised arm too late…

Stars exploded in a kind of Guy Fawkes’ display within his head…

Chapter Eight

I

The Irish Mail rushed through the night Or,hours

At intervals the diesel engine gave its weird banshee warning cry It was travelling at well over eighty miles an hour It was on time

Then, with some suddenness, the pace slackened as the brakes caripped the uard put his head out of thenoting the red signal ahead as the train caers woke up Most did not

One elderly lady, alarmed by the suddenness of the deceleration, opened the door and looked out along the corridor A little way along one of the doors to the line was open An elderly cleric with a thatch of thick white hair was cli up from the permanent way She presuate Theair was distinctly chilly Sonal” The elderly lady withdrew into her coain

Farther up the line, a nal box The fireuard who had descended fro to join him The man with the lantern arrived, rather short of breath and spoke in a series of gasps

“Bad crash ahead…Goods train derailed…”

The engine driver looked out of his cab, then climbed down also to join the others

At the rear of the train, six men who had just clih a door left open for theers from different coaches met thee of the postal van, isolating it from the rest of the train Two men in Balaclava heluard, coshes in hand

Athe corridor of the stationary train, uttering explanations to such as demanded them

“Block on the line ahead Ten minutes’ delay,

By the engine, the driver and the fireed and trussed up The man with the lantern called out:

“Everything OK here”

The guard lay by the eed and tied

The expert cracksmen in the postal van had done their work Two more neatly trussed bodies lay on the floor The special s sailed out to where other men on the embankment awaited them

In their corumbled to each other that the railere not what they used to be

Then, as they settled theh the darkness the roar of an exhaust

“Goodness,” murmured a woman “Is that a jet plane?”

“Racing car, I should say”

The roar died away…

II

On the Bedhaht lorries was grinding its way north A big white racing car flashed past them

Ten minutes later, it turned off the motorway

The garage on the corner of the B road bore the sign CLOSED But the big doors swung open and the white car was driven straight in, the doors closing again behind it Threespeed A fresh set of nued his coat and cap He had hite sheepskin before Noore black leather He drove out again Three minutes after his departure, an old Morris Oxford, driven by a clergyed out onto the road and proceeded to take a route through various turning and twisting country lanes

A station wagon, driven along a country road, slowed up as it cae, with an elderlyover it

The driver of the station wagon put out a head

“Having trouble? Can I help?”

“Very good of you It’s hts”

The two drivers approached each other—listened “All clear”