Together they watched the curious glow; almost simultaneously they
realized that it was becoming larger, and then Wenzel too heard the
echo of a faint, whispering drone.
"What the Devil!..." exclaimed Apor.
The glow apparently increased--then they saw that it was not actually
growing larger, though this effect was caused by the fact that the
reflection was rapidly approaching in their direction.
It was Wenzel who first grasped the truth. "Damn! Oh, damn!" he
exclaimed. "We are too late! It is the Death Train!"
Apor could not contradict. It was too evident now. White billowing
masses of smoke, belched forth into the air, were lit up and reddened
by the reflection of the roaring boiler-fire. Evidently it was
approaching at full speed, for the engine swung round a curve and the
watchers saw following a twinkling line of lights. For a second
only, then the coaches were hidden again behind the smoke-clouds.
The effect was weird and unearthly. Swirling into the air the smoke
formed briefly into strange, phantomesque, and terrifying shapes,
which gave way instantly as other puffs spread out and re-formed into
other ghoulish creations.
It might have been a burning chariot from Hell furiously driving
along toward them, fiendishly blazing its defiance into the night:
were it the Death Train, with Szamuelly inside, then indeed was the
description all the more applicable.
Filled with despair, Wenzel watched the progress of the train which
meant the collapse of all his plans. At the rate the locomotive was
moving, Szamuelly would have reached Bira and completed his massacre
long before Arnold arrived, and more Hungarian lives would have been
lost in a fruitless cause.
He groaned, and hearing him Apor sobbed slightly. "Satan is with
him. Szamuelly must have altered his time-table. Wenzel, I can't
look, I can't." He sank to the ground and buried his face in his
hands.
By now the Death Train was passing below them, roaring onward,
screeching and wailing like a lost soul in agony. Four coaches there
were, brilliantly lit; one flashingly revealed a party of men,
holding glasses in their hands, toasting.
Then no more, just the tail-light, mockingly winking its derision at
Wenzel, ominously reminiscent of blood--blood....
Fascinated, mentally stupefied, and partially mesmerized by its
malignant twinkle, Wenzel continued to watch the red light, and
wondered how soon it would be before its circumference dwindled to a
mere pin-prick, thence to fade away as the train vanished round the
next curve.
It was receding from him, but as yet he could still see it plainly.
He waited, and the minutes ticked by. Still it was visible, also the
glow of the engine fire on the smoke.
"It has gone?" There was a query in Apor's dull voice.
"Not yet."
"Not yet! But surely...!" Apor scrambled to his feet. Then he
turned to Wenzel. "My God! Don't you see, Wenzel? It has stopped!"
"Stopped!" So that was why he could still see the wicked, red glare?
"What does that mean, Apor? Is there a station there?"
"Not for another five miles."
They stood, side by side, watching, and waiting for the train to
resume its journey, but presently they noticed the clouds of smoke
diminishing.
Wenzel stirred at last. "Apor, I am curious to know why Szamuelly
and his crew have stopped. How far away do you imagine it to be?"
"It is hard to say. Perhaps a mile, perhaps more."
"Then guide me there. I am going to investigate."
Twenty-five minutes' journey brought them to the slope of the hill
just above where the train stood. Now it was necessary to move with
caution, for the quiet night intensified sounds. They could even
hear the sound of voices where the Terror Boys argued together.
Wenzel caught hold of Apor, as the Hungarian would have continued to
advance, and whispered in his ear: "I will go on alone, Apor; there
is light enough from the train to guide me."