LITMIR.BIZ

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066147471

Table of Contents

       Chapter Two.

       Chapter Three.

       Chapter Four.

       Chapter Five.

       Chapter Six.

       Chapter Seven.

       Chapter Eight.

       Chapter Nine.

       Chapter Ten.

       Chapter Eleven.

       Chapter Twelve.

       Chapter Thirteen.

       Chapter Fourteen.

       Chapter Fifteen.

       Chapter Sixteen.

       Chapter Seventeen.

       Chapter Eighteen.

       Chapter Nineteen.

       Chapter Twenty.

       Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Two.

       Table of Contents

      The Railway Bridge.

      The Crossbourne station was not in the town itself, but on the outskirts, about a quarter of a mile distant from the Town Hall. Nevertheless, the town was creeping up to it in the form of a suburb, which would ere long reach the station gates. Crossbourne, the present flourishing manufacturing town, occupied the hills on either side of the little stream, the greater part of it being to the north, in the direction of the parish church. The station itself was on high ground, and looked across over open country, the line in the London direction passing from it through the centre of the town over a noble viaduct of some twenty arches. In the opposite direction the line made a gradual descent from the station, and at a mile’s distance passed through a cutting, towards the farther end of which it inclined northwards in a sharp curve.

      Just about the middle of this curve, and where the cutting was pretty deep, a massive wooden foot-bridge was thrown across the line. This was at a place not much frequented, as the bridge formed only part of a short cut into a by-road which led to one or two farms on the hill-sides. Along the rails round this ascending curve the ordinary trains laboured with bated breath; and even the dashing express was compelled to slacken here a little in its speed.

      It was on the 23rd of December, the same night in which Kate Foster received so mysteriously the little Bible which was dropped with the ring into her parlour, that four men were plodding along in the darkness over a field-way which led to the wooden bridge just mentioned. They were dressed in their ordinary mill or foundry working-clothes, and seemed, from their stealthy walk and crouching manner, to be out on no good or honest errand. Three of them slouched along with their hands deep in their pockets; the fourth carried a bag of some kind, which apparently was no burden to him, for it swung lightly backwards and forwards on two of his fingers. The men’s faces were all muffled in scarves, and their caps pulled down over their eyes. As they walked along the field-path in single file they preserved a profound silence. At last they reached a stile which brought them out close to the end of the bridge which was nearest to the up-line, along which the trains to London passed.

      It was now nearly half-past ten. Everything around was profoundly still, except the faint wailing of the wind among the telegraph wires. A drizzling rain had been falling at intervals, for the season was remarkably mild for the time of year, though the little air that blew was raw and chilly. It was very dark, nevertheless the great wooden parapet of the bridge could be distinctly seen on either side, as the four men stood on the roadway of the bridge itself midway over the line.

      “Ned,” said one of the men in a hoarse whisper, “just cross right over, and see if there’s any one about.”

      The man addressed crept cautiously over to the farther side of the line, and along the road either way for a hundred yards or more, and then returned to his companions.

      “It’s all right,” he whispered; “there’s not a soul stirring, as I can hear or see.”

      “Well, wait a bit,” said the man whom he addressed; “just let’s listen.”

      All was perfectly quiet.

      “Now, then,” said the first speaker again, “the express won’t be long afore it’s here; who’ll do it?”

      “Why, Joe Wright, to be sure; he’s got the most spirit in him. I know he’ll do it,” said another voice.

      “He’s got most beer in him, at any rate,” said the first speaker.

      There was a gruff chuckle all round.

      “Well, I’m your man,” said Wright; “I’ve carried the bag, and I may as well finish the job.”

      “Look alive, then,” cried Ned, “or the train’ll pass afore you’re ready.”

      “You just shut up,” growled Joe; “I knows what I’m about.”

      So saying, he began to climb over the parapet of the bridge, grasping in his left hand the bag, which was apparently an ordinary travelling or carpet-bag, rather below the average size. Having clambered over the top rail, he let himself down among the huge beams which sprung out from the great upright posts, and served to strengthen and consolidate the whole structure.

      “Mind how you get down, Joe; take care you don’t slip,” said more than one voice anxiously from above.

      “All right,” was the reply; “I’m just ready.”

      “Stick fast, and

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