runs, sir," the man assured
him. "The mail is only a mile or two ahead of us; that's one reason why
we have to go so slowly. Then the water is right over the line where
we are now, and we can't get any news at all from the other side of
Ipswich. If it goes on like this, some of the bridges will be down;
that's what I'm afraid of."

Mr. Dunster frowned. For the first time he showed some signs of
uneasiness.

"Perhaps," he muttered, half to himself, "a motor-car would have been
better."

"Not on your life," his young companion intervened. "All the roads to
the coast here cross no end of small bridges--much weaker affairs
than the railway bridges. I bet there are some of those down already.
Besides, you wouldn't be able to see where you were going, on a night
like this."

"There appears to be a chance," Mr. Dunster remarked drily, "that you
will have to scratch for your competition to-morrow."

"Also," the young man observed, "that you will have taken this special
train for nothing. I can't fancy the Harwich boat going out a night like
this."

Mr. Dunster relapsed into stony but anxious silence. The train continued
its erratic progress, sometimes stopping altogether for a time, with
whistle blowing repeatedly; sometimes creeping along the metals as
though feeling its way to safety. At last, after a somewhat prolonged
wait, the guard, whose hoarse voice they had heard on the platform of
the small station in which they were standing, entered the carriage.
With him came a gust of wind, once more sending the papers flying around
the compartment. The rain dripped from his clothes on to the carpet.
He had lost his hat, his hair was tossed with the wind, his face was
bleeding from a slight wound on the temple.

"The boat train's just ahead of us, sir," he announced. "She can't get
on any better than we can. We've just heard that there's a bridge down
on the line between Ipswich and Harwich."

"What are we going to do, then?" Mr. Dunster demanded.

"That's just what I've come to ask you, sir," the guard replied. "The
mail's going slowly on as far as Ipswich. I fancy they'll lie by
there until the morning. The best thing that I can see is, if you're
agreeable, to take you back to London. We can very likely do that all
right, if we start at once."

Mr. Dunster, ignoring the man's suggestion, drew from one of the
voluminous pockets of his ulster a small map. He spread it open upon the
table before him and studied it at