He slunk farther back into the shadows of the trees, then took a direction which would bring him well to the front of the train, assuming that there he would be less likely to be seen, by reason of being behind the light cast by the engine boiler-fire. When he had traversed the distance of a hundred yards or so he considered that he had gone far enough, and made his way toward the track again. Where the trees finished to make way for the iron lines he paused, ready for the crossing. He peered into the gloom on each side of him, and listened acutely for any suggestion of an approaching Terrorist; but everything was calm and peaceful. Doubling his tall bulk he moved cautiously forward, and without a sound crossed the track into the belt of wood the other side, and once there made his way back again toward the train. It was as he had suspected: all the men were congregated on one side of the train, leaving the approach on the other absolutely clear, though how long such a state of things was likely to continue he did not know. He realized that he must work at once or perhaps fail to have another opportunity. Poised ready for instant flight in the event of discovery he advanced toward the train, step by step, and at each stride his eyes flickered from side to side for any sign of interruption. On the other side of the coaches he heard the chatter of their tongues and the crunching movement of their feet as the Terrorists walked to and fro. By peering low between the carriage wheels he could even see some of them, and knew that, contrariwise, if one of them should chance to look his way, discovery would be inevitable, and all chance gone of delaying the Death Train. In a man's way he prayed that he might reach his destination. As he advanced and nothing happened he began to believe that Fortune was playing into his hands. At last! The steps to the driver's platform were before him. He swung himself on to the engine with a lithe movement, but even as he did so, a flashing glance toward the end of the train made him aware that the driver and the fireman were slowly strolling back to their allotted places. He could not retreat, for now he was cut off. He could not go forward, for the dozens of Terrorists on the down track. Swiftly he glanced around, for hide himself he must. There was only one possible place: on top of a coach. He clambered silently up the tender, and then, trusting to luck that he would not be seen, hoisted himself on to the roof of the first coach, and on his stomach wormed his way along. He was only just in time, for even as he reached the shadows he saw the driver and his assistant mount the engine platform. Despite the precariousness of his situation he could not help appreciating the humour of it. Undoubtedly, of the many predicaments in which he had found himself from time to time since his adoption of the role of White Knight, the present one was the most curious and unusual.