Bones in London

Mr. Pyeburt nodded.

"Come out on to the balcony, and I'll tell you about it," said Pyeburt; and Bones, who always wanted telling about things, and could no moreresist information than a dipsomaniac could refuse drink, followedobediently.

It appeared that Mr. Parkinson Chenney's father was a rich buteccentric man, who had a grudge against a certain popular seasideresort for some obscure reason, and had initiated a movement to found arival town. So he had started Lynhaven, and had built houses andvillas and beautiful assembly rooms; and then, to complete theindependence of Lynhaven, he had connected that town with the maintraffic line by railway, which he built across eight miles ofmarshland. By all the rules of the game, no man can createsuccessfully in a spirit of vengeance, and Lynhaven should have been afailure. It was, indeed, a great success, and repaid Mr. Chenney,Senior, handsomely.

But the railway, it seemed, was a failure, because the rival town hadcertain foreshore rights, and had employed those to lay a tramway fromtheir hustling centre; and as the rival town was on the main line, themajority of visitors preferred going by the foreshore route inpreference to the roundabout branch line route, which was somewhathandicapped by the fact that this, too, connected with the branch lineat Tolness, a little town which had done great work in the War, butwhich did not attract the tourist in days of peace.

These were the facts about the Lynhaven line, not as they were setforth by Mr. Pyeburt – who took a much more optimistic view of thepossibilities of the railway than did its detractors – but as theyreally were.

"It's a fine line, beautifully laid and ballasted," said Mr. Pyeburt, shaking his head with melancholy admiration. "All that it wants behindit is a mind. At present it's neglected; the freights and passengerfares are too high, the rolling-stock wants replacing, but thelocomotive stock is in most excellent condition."

"Does he want to sell it?" asked the interested Bones, and Mr. Pyeburtpursed his lips.

"It is extremely doubtful," he said carefully, "but I think he might beapproached. If he does want to sell it, and you can take it off hishands – "

He raised his own eyebrows with a significant gesture, which expressedin some subtle way that Bones's future was assured.

Bones said he would think the matter over, and he did – aloud, in thepresence of Hamilton.

"It's a queer proposition," said Hamilton. "Of course, derelictrailways can be made to pay."

"I should be general manager," said Bones more thoughtfully still. "Myname would be printed on all the posters, of course. And isn't there afree pass over all the railways for railway managers?"

"I believe there is something of the sort," said Hamilton, "but, on thewhole, I think it would be cheaper to pay your fare than to buy arailway to get that privilege."

"There is one locomotive," mused Bones. "It is called 'Mary Louisa.'Pyeburt told me about it just as I was going away. Of course, onewould get a bit of a name and all that sort of thing."

He scratched his chin and walked thoughtfully into the office of Miss

Marguerite Whitland.

She swung round in her chair and reached for her notebook, but Boneswas not in a dictatorial mood.

"Young miss," he asked, "how do you like Sir Augustus?"

"Sir who?" she demanded, puzzled.

"Sir Augustus," repeated Bones.

"I think it's very funny," she said.

It was not the answer he expected, and instinctively she knew she hadmade a mistake.

"Oh, you're thinking about yourself," she said quickly. "Are you goingto be a knight, Mr. Tibbetts? Oh, how splendid!"

"Yes," admitted Bones, with fine indifference, "not bad, dear old miss.

I'm pretty young, of course, but Napoleon was a general at twenty-two."

"Are you going back into the Army?" she asked a little hazily, and hadvisions of Bones at the War Office.

"I'm talking about railways," said Bones firmly. "Sir Augustus

Tibbetts – there, now I've said it!"

"Wonderful!" said the girl enthusiastically, and her eyes shone withgenuine pleasure. "I didn't see it in the newspaper, or I would havecongratulated you before."

Bones shifted uneasily.

"As a matter of fact, dear old miss," he said, "it has not beengazetted yet. I'm merely speaking of the future, dear old impetuoustypewriter and future secretary to the Lynhaven Railway Company, andpossibly dear old Lady – " He stopped short with one of his audible"tuts."

Happily she could not see the capital "L" to the word "Lady," andmissed the significance of Bones's interrupted speech.

He saw Mr. Harold Pyeburt at his office, and Mr. Harold Pyeburt hadseen the Right Hon. Parkinson Chenney, and the right honourablegentleman had expressed his willingness to sell the railway, lock, stock, and barrel, for sixty thousand pounds.

"And I advise you" – Mr. Pyeburt paused, as he thought of a better wordthan "disinterestedly" – "as a friend, to jump at it. Parkinson Chenneyspoke in the highest terms of you. You evidently made a deepimpression upon him."

"Who is the jolly old Parkinson's agent?" asked Bones, and Mr. HaroldPyeburt admitted without embarrassment that, as a matter of fact, hewas acting as Parkinson's attorney in this matter, and that was why hehad been so diffident in recommending the property. The audacity ofthe latter statement passed unnoticed by Bones.

In the end Bones agreed to pay ten per cent. of the purchase price, theremainder to be paid after a month's working of the line, if the dealwas approved.

"Clever idea of mine, dear old Ham," said Bones. "The Honours Listwill be out in a month, and I can easily chuck it."

"That's about the eighth fellow who's paid a ten per cent. deposit,"said Mr. Chenney to his agent. "I'll be almost sorry if he takes it."

Three weeks later there were two important happenings. The PrimeMinister of England, within an hour of leaving for the West of Englandto take a well-earned rest, summoned to him his right-hand man.

"Chenney," he said, "I really must go away for this rest, and I'mawfully sorry I cannot be on hand to meet the Chinese Commission. Now, whatever you do, you will not fail to meet them at Charing Cross ontheir arrival from the Continent. I believe they are leaving Paristo-morrow."

"I shall be there," said Parkinson Chenney, with a little smile. "Irather fancy I have managed their coal concession well, Prime Minister."

"Yes, yes," said the Prime Minister, who was not in the mood forhanding out bouquets. "And would you run down to Tolness and settle upthat infernal commission of inquiry? They've been asking questions inthe House, and I can give no very definite reply. Solebury threatenedto force a division when the vote came up. Undoubtedly there's been agreat deal of extravagance, but you may be able to wangle a reasonableexplanation."

"Trust me, Prime Minister," said Mr. Parkinson Chenney, and left thatafternoon by special train for Tolness.

On that very morning Bones, in a pair of overalls and with a raptexpression, stood with his hand on the starting lever of "Mary Louisa,"and explained to the secretary of the company – she also wore whiteoveralls and sat in the cab of the engine – just how simple a matter itwas to drive a locomotive.

For two glorious days Bones had driven the regular service betweenLynhaven and Bayham Junction, where the lines met. He had come to knowevery twist and turn of the road, every feature of the somewhatfeatureless landscape, and the four passengers who travelled regularlyevery day except Sundays – there was no Sunday service – were now sofamiliar to him that he did not trouble to take their tickets.

The Lynhaven Railway system was not as elaborate as he had thought. Hehad been impressed by the number of railway trucks which stood in thesiding at the terminus, but was to discover that they did not belong tothe railway, the rolling stock of which consisted of "Mary Louisa," anasthmatic but once famous locomotive, and four weather-beaten coaches.The remainder of the property consisted of a half right in a bayplatform at Bayham Junction and the dilapidated station building atLynhaven, which was thoughtfully situated about two miles from the town.

Nobody used the railway; that was the stark truth borne in uponMarguerite Whitland. She recognised, with a sense of dismay, theextraordinary badness of the bargain which Bones had made. Bones, witha real locomotive to play with – he had given the aged engine-driver aweek's holiday – saw nothing but the wonderful possibilities of pullinglevers and making a mass of rusting machinery jerk asthmaticallyforward at the touch of his hand.

"There are a lot of people," said Bones, affectionately patting a steampipe, "a lot of people," he said, after sucking his fingers, for thesteam was extraordinarily hot, "who think poor old 'Mary Louisa' isdone for. Believe me, dear old miss, this locomotive wants a jolly lotof beating, she does really. I haven't tried her full out – have I,jolly old stoker?"

The jolly old stoker, aged seventeen, shook a grimy face.

"And don't you try, neither," he said ominously. "Old George, he nevertakes her more than quarter speed, he don't."

"Do you hear, dear old miss?" said Bones triumphantly. "Not more thanquarter speed. I tell you I could make enough money out of this enginealone to pay the whole cost of the railway.

"What about giving engine-driving lessons? That's an idea! And whatabout doing wonderful cinema pictures? That's another idea! Thrillingrescues from the train; jolly old hero struggling like mad on the roofof the carriage; railway collisions, and so forth, and so on."

"You can't have a collision unless you've two engines," said the girl.

"Oh, well," said the optimistic Bones, "we could perhaps borrow anengine from the Great Northern."

He looked down at the girl, then looked at his watch.

"Time to be up and doing, dear old thing," he said, and looked backalong the little train. The aged guard was sitting on a barrow, hisnodding head testifying to the sleep-giving qualities of Lynhaven air.Bones jerked the whistle, there was an unearthly shriek, and the guardwoke up. He looked at his watch, yawned, searched the train forpassengers, waved his flag, and climbed into his little compartment.

The engine shrieked again. Bones pulled over the lever gently, andthere was a gratifying chuck-chuck-chuck. Bones smiled down at thegirl.

"Easy as shelling peas, dear old thing," he said, "and this time I'mgoing to show you just how she can go."

"Old Joe don't let her go more than quarter speed," said the diminutivestoker warningly.

"Blow old Joe!" said Bones severely. "He's a jolly unenterprising oldengine-driver. That's why the naughty old line doesn't pay. The ideaof running 'Mary Louisa' at quarter speed!"

He turned to the girl for approval, but she felt that, in thecircumstances and with only the haziest knowledge of engineering, itwould be wiser to offer no opinion.

Bones pushed the lever a little farther over, and the "Mary Louisa"reeled under the shock.

"In re knighthood, dear old miss," said Bones confidentially. Hiswords came jerkily, because the footplate of an outraged locomotivepounding forward at an unaccustomed speed was not a good foundation forcontinued eloquence. "Rendering the jolly old country aservice – helping the Cabinet – dear old Chenney awfully fond of me – "

"Aren't we going rather fast?" said the girl, gripping the side of thecab for support.

"Not at all," jerked Bones, "not at all. I am going to show 'em justhow this – "

He felt a touch on his arm, and looked down at the diminutive stoker.

"There's a lot of sand round here," said the melancholy child; "itwon't hurt you to jump I'm going to."

"Jump!" gasped Bones. "What do you mean? Hey! Don't do that, yousilly young – "

But his black-visaged assistant was already poised on the step of theengine, and Bones, looking back, saw him performing somersaults down asandy slope. Bones looked at the girl in amazement.

"Suicide, dear old miss!" he said in an awed voice. "Terrible!"

"Isn't that a station?" said the girl, more interested for the momentin her own future.

Bones peered through the windows ahead.

"That's the junction, dear old thing," he said. "This is where we stopher."

He tugged at the lever, but the lever was not to be moved. He tuggeddesperately, but it seemed the steel bar was riveted in position. The"Mary Louisa" was leaping along at an incredible speed, and less thanfive hundred yards away was the dead-end of the Bayham platform, intowhich the Lynhaven train was due to run.

Bones went white and looked at the girl with fearful eyes. He took aswift scrutiny to the left and right, but they had passed out of thesandy country, and any attempt to leave the train now would meancertain destruction.

* * * * *

The Right Honourable Mr. Parkinson Chenney had concluded a verysatisfactory morning's work of inspection at Tolness, and had securedall the information he needed to answer any question which might be putto him in Parliament by the best-informed of questioners.

He was lunching with the officers of the small garrison, when atelephone message was brought to him. He read it and smiled.

"Good!" he said. "Gentlemen, I am afraid I have to leave you a littleearlier than I expected. Colonel Wraggle, will you see that my specialtrain is ready! I must leave in ten minutes. The Chinese Commissionhas arrived," he said impressively, "or, rather, it arrives in Londonthis afternoon, and I am deputed by the Prime Minister – "

He explained to his respectful audience just what part he had played insecuring Chinese Coal Concessions. He made a little speech on theimmense value to the Empire in particular and the world in general ofthese new coalfields which had been secured to the country through theacumen, genius, forethought, and patriotic disinterestedness of theCabinet.

He would not claim to set any particular merit on his own action, andwent on to claim it. By which time his train was ready. It was indeedvital that he should be in London to meet a commission which had shownsuch reluctance to trade with foreign devils, and had been, moreover,so punctilious in its demand for ceremonious receptions, but he had notthe slightest doubt about his ability to reach London before the boattrain arrived. He had two and a half hours, and two and a half hoursgave him an ample margin of time.

Just before his special rounded the bend which brought it within sightof Bayham Junction the Lynhaven express had reached within a fewhundred yards of annihilation. The signalman at Bayham Junction hadwatched the oncoming rush of Bones's train, and, having a fairlyextensive knowledge of the "Mary Louisa" and her eccentricities, herealised just what had happened.

There was only one thing to be done. He could see the smoke from theCabinet Minister's special rising above the cutting two miles away, andhe threw over two levers simultaneously. The first set the pointswhich brought the Lynhaven express on to the main line, switching itfrom the deadly bay wherein the runaway train would have been smashedto pieces; the second lever set the distant signal against the special.It was a toss-up whether the special had not already passed the distantsignal, but he had to take that risk.

Bones, with his arm round the girl, awaiting a noisy and violentdissolution, felt the "Mary Louisa" sway to the right when it shouldhave swayed to the left, heard the clang of the points as he passedthem, and drew a long breath when he found himself headed along astraight clear stretch of line. It was some time before he found hisvoice, and then it was little more than a squeak.

"We're going to London, dear old thing," he said tremulously.

The girl smiled, though her face was deathly pale.

"I thought we were going to heaven," she said.

"Never, dear old thing," said Bones, recovering something of hisspirits as he saw the danger past. "Old Bones will never send youthere."

The problem of the "Mary Louisa" was still unsettled. She was tearingaway like a Flying Dutchman. She was oozing steam at every pore, and, glancing back, Bones saw the agitated countenance of the aged guardthrust through the window. He waved frantically at Bones, and Boneswaved genially back again.

He was turning back to make another attempt on the lever, when, lookingpast the guard, he saw a sight which brought his heart into his mouth.Pounding along behind him, and emitting feathers of steam from herwhistle, was an enormous locomotive. Bones guessed there was a trainbehind it, but the line was too straight for him to see.

"Gracious heavens!" he gasped. "We're being chased!"

He jerked at the lever – though it was a moment when he should have leftit severely alone – and to his ill-founded joy it moved.

The two trains came to a standstill together ten miles from Bayham

Junction, and Bones climbed down into the six-foot way and walked back.

Almost the first person he met was a gesticulating gentleman in a frockcoat and with a red face, who, mistaking him for an engine-driver, dismissed him on the spot, threatened him with imprisonment – with orwithout hard labour he did not specify – and demanded what the dickenshe meant by holding up a Cabinet Minister?

"Why," chortled Bones, "isn't it my dear friend, Mr. Chenney?"

"Who are you," snarled Mr. Chenney, "and what do you mean by calling meyour dear friend? By Heavens, I'll have you kicked out of thisservice!"

"Don't you know old Tibbetts?" cooed Bones. "Well, well, fancy meetingyou!"

He held out a grimy hand, which was not taken.

"Tibbetts!" growled the gentleman. "Oh, you are the foo – the gentlemanwho bought the Lynhaven line, didn't you?"

"Certainly," said Bones.

"But what is your train doing here?" asked Mr. Chenney violently."Don't you realise you are holding up a special? Great Heavens, man, this is very serious! You are holding up the business of the country!"

The engine-driver of the special came to the rescue.

"There's a switch-over about half a mile further on," he said."There's not a down train due for an hour. I'll unlock the switch andput you on to the other line, and, after we have passed, you can comeon."

"But I don't want to come on, dear old thing," said Bones. "I want togo back."

"Well, that's simple," said the driver.

He it was who piloted the Lynhaven express for another half-mile up theroad. He it was who found the switches, unlocked them, telegraphed tothe next station to hold up traffic, and he it was – Bones insisted uponthis – who brought the "Mary Louisa" along the switch to the down line.

The position was as follows: The "Mary Louisa" was on the down line.Two coaches were between the down and the up line, and the guard's vanwas exactly on the up line, when the "Mary Louisa" refused to work anyfurther.

Neither the experienced engine-driver, nor Bones, nor the stoker of thespecial, nor Mr. Chenney, nor the ancient guard, could coax the "MaryLouisa" to move another yard. The Lynhaven express stretched acrossboth lines and made all further progress for traffic impossible.

Three hours later a breakdown gang arrived and towed the "Mary Louisa"and her appendages back to Bayham Junction.

Bones and the girl went back to London by the last train, and Bones wasvery thoughtful and silent.

But Bones was ever an optimist. The next morning he saw on a newspaperplacard: "Birthday Honours. Twenty-two New Knights." And he actuallystopped his car, bought a paper, and searched the lists for his name.It was not there.

CHAPTER XI

A STUDENT OF MEN

Mr. Jackson Hyane was one of those oldish-looking young men to whom thedescription of "man about town" most naturally applied. He was alwayswell-dressed and correctly dressed. You saw him at first nights. Hewas to be seen in the paddock at Ascot – it was a shock to discover thathe had not the Royal Enclosure badge on the lapel of his coat – and hewas to be met with at most of the social functions, attendance at whichdid not necessarily imply an intimate acquaintance with the leaders ofSociety, yet left the impression that the attendant was, at any rate,in the swim, and might very well be one of the principal swimmers.

He lived off Albemarle Street in a tiny flat, and did no work of anykind whatever. His friends, especially his new friends, thought he"had a little money," and knew, since he told them, that he hadexpectations. He did not tell them that his expectations were largelybound up in their credulity and faith in his integrity. Some of themdiscovered that later, but the majority drifted out of his circlepoorer without being wiser, for Mr. Hyane played a wonderful game ofpiquet, and seemed to be no more than abnormally lucky.

His mother had been a Miss Whitland, his father was the notorious

Colonel Hyane, who boasted that his library was papered with High Court writs, and who had had the distinction of being escorted from Monte

Carlo by the police of the Principality.

Mr. Jackson Hyane was a student of men and affairs. Very littleescaped his keen observation, and he had a trick of pigeon-holingpossibilities of profit, and forgetting them until the moment seemedripe for their exploitation. He was tall and handsome, with a smilewhich was worth at least five thousand pounds a year to him, for itadvertised his boyish innocence and enthusiasm – he who had never beeneither a boy or enthusiastic.

One grey October day he put away his pass-book into a drawer and lockedit, and took from a mental pigeon-hole the materials of an immaturescheme. He dressed himself soberly and well, strolled down intoPiccadilly, and calling a cab, drove to the block of City buildingswhich housed the flourishing business of Tibbetts and Hamilton, Limited.

The preliminaries to this invasion had been very carefully settled. Hehad met Miss Marguerite Whitland by "accident" a week before, hadcalled at her lodgings with an old photograph of her father, which hehad providentially discovered, and had secured from her a somewhatreluctant acceptance of an invitation to lunch.

Bones looked up from his desk as the debonair young man strolled in.

"You don't know me, Mr. Tibbetts," said Jackson Hyane, flashing hisfamous smile. "My name is Hyane."

It was his first meeting with Bones, but by no means the first timethat Jackson had seen him.

"My dear old Hyane, sit down," said Bones cheerfully. "What can we dofor you?"

Mr. Hyane laughed.

"There's nothing you can do for me, except to spare your secretary foran hour longer than she usually takes."

"My secretary?" said Bones quickly, and shot a suspicious glance at thevisitor.

"I mean Miss Whitland," said Hyane easily. "She is my cousin, youknow. My mother's brother was her father."

"Oh, yes," said Bones a little stiffly.

He felt a sense of the strongest resentment against the late ProfessorWhitland. He felt that Marguerite's father had played rather a lowtrick on him in having a sister at all, and Mr. Hyane was too keen astudent to overlook Bones's obvious annoyance.

"Yes," he went on carelessly, "we are quite old friends, Marguerite andI, and you can't imagine how pleased I am that she has such anexcellent job as this."

"Oh, yes," said Bones, clearing his throat. "Very nice old – very goodtypewriter indeed, Mr. Hyane … very nice person … ahem!"

Marguerite, dressed for the street, came in from her office at thatmoment, and greeted her cousin with a little nod, which, to thedistorted vision of Bones, conveyed the impression of a lifelongfriendship.

"I have just been asking Mr. Tibbetts," said Hyane, "if he could spareyou for an extra hour."

"I am afraid that can't – " the girl began.

"Nonsense, nonsense!" said Bones, raising his voice as he invariablydid when he was agitated. "Certainly, my dear old – er – my dearyoung – er – certainly, Miss Marguerite, by all means, take your cousinto the Zoo … I mean show him the sights."

He was patently agitated, and watched the door close on the two youngpeople with so ferocious a countenance that Hamilton, a silent observerof the scene, could have laughed.

Bones walked slowly back to his desk as Hamilton reached for his hat.

"Come on, Bones," he said briskly. "It's lunch time. I had no idea itwas so late."

But Bones shook his head.

"No, thank you, dear old thing," he said sadly. "I'd rather not, ifyou don't mind."