Detective and mystery stories, English; Horror tales, English
"All right! Here you are, sir!" said John Palmer. He slammed the door
of the smoking carriage, opened that of the next one, which was empty,
and thrust the two travellers in. At the same moment he sounded his
whistle and the wheels of the train began to move. The man with the
cigar was at the window of his carriage, and said something to the
guard as he rolled past him, but the words were lost in the bustle of
the departure. Palmer stepped into the guard's van, as it came up to
him, and thought no more of the incident.
Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached Willesden
Junction, where it stopped for a very short interval. An examination
of the tickets has made it certain that no one either joined or left it
at this time, and no passenger was seen to alight upon the platform.
At 5:14 the journey to Manchester was resumed, and Rugby was reached at
6:50, the express being five minutes late.
At Rugby the attention of the station officials was drawn to the fact
that the door of one of the first-class carriages was open. An
examination of that compartment, and of its neighbour, disclosed a
remarkable state of affairs.
The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced man with the black
beard had been seen was now empty. Save for a half-smoked cigar, there
was no trace whatever of its recent occupant. The door of this
carriage was fastened. In the next compartment, to which attention had
been originally drawn, there was no sign either of the gentleman with
the astrakhan collar or of the young lady who accompanied him. All
three passengers had disappeared. On the other hand, there was found
upon the floor of this carriage--the one in which the tall traveller
and the lady had been--a young man fashionably dressed and of elegant
appearance. He lay with his knees drawn up, and his head resting
against the farther door, an elbow upon either seat. A bullet had
penetrated his heart and his death must have been instantaneous. No
one had seen such a man enter the train, and no railway ticket was
found in his pocket, neither were there any markings upon his linen,
nor papers nor personal property which might help to identify him. Who
he was, whence he had come, and how he had met his end were each as
great a mystery as what had occurred to the three people who had
started an hour and a half before from Willesden in those two
compartments.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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