Another tragedy which, only a few short years ago, too frequently meant the loss of the ship and every soul on board. How often has some stately vessel, thronged with happy people, set sail from a crowded harbour over a fair summer sea, upon a voyage seemingly certain to prove prosperous and pleasant—never to be seen again! How agonized those first days of uncertainty when the ship did not appear at the port for which it had set sail. Days passed, and still no word from it; days and days, during which hope changed to doubt and doubt to despair; days and days, until finally men knew that it would never appear—that it had vanished into the deep—that it had struck an iceberg or a derelict and sunk with all on board. But science, with its giant strides, has changed all that. The ship may go down, but at least she can give warning of her danger. For in a little cubby-hole on the upper deck, his hand upon his instrument, sits the wireless operator, flashing to the four winds of heaven the “C. Q. D., C. Q. D.,” which tells of deadly peril and the need of instant aid. And every ship within a hundred miles, catching that signal, turns in her tracks and speeds, full steam ahead, to render what aid she can. Truly, a fearful and wonderful thing, this wireless, with its slender filaments and lofty masts and bursts of ether-compelling flame, yoking to man’s service something more impalpable than the air itself, binding ocean to ocean around the whole face of the earth. An accident may happen—that ship may go down—the derelict may do its deadly work—but at least the world will know. And if there is any vessel within reaching distance, the passengers will be saved! Ill-fated _Bourgogne_, slowly settling beneath the icy waters off the Grand Banks, with aid just beyond the horizon, but all unconscious of her desperate need; ill-fated _Naronic_, lost with all on board, how or where for all time unsolved and unsolvable; ill-fated _Republic_, sending forth her cry for aid through the night and through the fog, lost, indeed, but with every living soul saved uninjured—a new tale and a new wonder on history’s page! * * * * * But here was a derelict of a new kind—a derelict on land—no less deadly than the derelict on sea; standing four-square in the way of traffic, a threat and a mystery. Some such thought as this ran through Allan’s mind, as he stood for an instant staring in astonishment at the deserted train. Why was it here? Why had it been abandoned? What stress of peril was it had compelled its crew to leave it? What peril could there be to drive them not only from the train, but from the neighbourhood? The question staggered the reason. Above all, why had its headlight been extinguished? That seemed to argue design—seemed to argue malicious intent—seemed to argue that the missing crew were deserters, traitors—as much a traitor as the soldier who deserts in the face of the enemy.