The Loudwater TragedySpeight, T. W. (Thomas Wilkinson)
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The Loudwater Tragedy
Speight, T. W. (Thomas Wilkinson)
Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 19th century; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction
"Mr. Timmins listened with growing wonder, and when I had come to an
end he lay back in his chair, and for several seconds could do nothing
but stare blankly at me. At length he said: 'It is, perhaps, a
fortunate thing for me, Mr. Winslade, that my share in the story, or
whatever it may be called, is one that can very readily be explained.
To begin with, I am only part author of it. But perhaps I had better,
first of all, explain by what a singular conjunction of circumstances
the original MS. came into my hands. Possibly you may remember that,
some months ago, several people were killed owing to a railway
accident about a couple of miles beyond Eastwich?' I nodded. 'I, sir,
happened to be in the train when the accident took place, but was
fortunate enough to escape with nothing worse than a few bruises and a
severe shaking, while the only other passenger in the same compartment
with me was killed on the spot. I had been to report the speeches at a
great political meeting in the country, and was on my way back to
London by the night mail, travelling first-class in order that I might
be the better enabled to transcribe my notes _en route_. For a part of
the time I was alone, but at some station, I forget which, I was
joined by another passenger. I was too immersed in my work to take
more than the most casual notice of him, and all I can remember is
that he was young and dark-complexioned and had a black moustache. I
did notice, however, and I had occasion to remember the fact later on,
that after he had been some time in the carriage he took out of his
pocket a number of loose sheets of paper covered with writing, and
began to read them with what seemed to me the closest attention,
making an occasional pencil memorandum in the margin of one or another
of them as he went on. We were both at work, each in his own fashion,
when, without any other warning than a prolonged shriek of the engine,
of which neither of us took any notice, the crash came. All I knew, or
felt, of it was a momentary shock, as if all my limbs had been
suddenly dislocated, after which came an utter blank.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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