"_Jeff Blake_," he said. "How did you make it?" "There isn't time to talk now," Blake answered quickly. "O'Toole and I overcame Harror. We managed to get them to start Mono 6 out of the cave. O'Toole is in the cab now. In a few minutes we'll be free. Before they wake up to the trick we played on them we'll be five hundred miles away." Ferrell's face relaxed. Although Blake watched him closely, the man showed no sign of alarm. "Good work, boy." His hand gripped Blake's shoulder. "I don't know how you did it, but there'll be a big reward for you when we reach South Station." Blake sat down opposite him. His eyes never left Ferrell's face. Yet, Ferrell held himself remarkably in reserve. "I did it more for Dauna than anyone else," Blake admitted slowly. "We wouldn't have anything happen to her would we?" Ferrell turned toward his daughter. "I've been pretty hard on my girl," he said. "But if she hadn't got out safely I'd have torn that place apart with my bare hands." _He meant every word of it._ Blake's body tensed. The full shock of what Ferrell's words meant was sinking slowly into his brain. Suddenly he shot to his feet. "I've been a fool," he said. "A damned, blind fool!" "A fool?" There was no mistaking Walter Ferrell's bewilderment. Blake was already at the car door. "I'm going to take a long chance," he shouted back. "Ferrell, you crowd the passengers into both halls at the ends of the car. Open the outer doors. If the train goes into the lake, try to get as many out as you can." * * * * * With the shouts of alarm still ringing in his ears, Blake went swiftly through the long empty cars toward the cab. The train was backing through the night now at a terrific speed, and the black forest flashed past him as he went to his appointment with Holly O'Toole. Blake reached the head car, tried the door and stepped back in alarm. It was locked. He looked overhead and found the tiny emergency entrance to the catwalk above. Back inside, he dragged several chairs out quickly, climbed them and pushed upward. Luckily the door was open. Head and shoulders above the train, he stopped. The wind pushed him back, clutching at his breath. He climbed out on the catwalk slowly, crouching to the smoothness of the plastic, and wriggled ahead. The diesel room was below him now. Its top door opened easy. He listened. All motors were purring smoothly. The hot smell of oil drifted up. Ahead, the cab was silent. He pushed his feet down cautiously and dropped. His feet hit the oily floor and he fell flat. The door to the cab was open. He went toward it, saw lights over the dash and ran to the main control stick. It was lashed firmly in place with heavy chain.