ON A RUNAWAY TROLLEY
"Are you going to leave?" asked Mark.
"Certainly. There is no use staying here and getting mixed up in
something that Englishman thinks we have done. It's easier to go away
quietly and let him find out his mistake."
"All right," agreed Mark. "I wonder who he is, anyhow?"
"He thinks he owns the earth, whoever he is," returned Jack.
"He's some sort of a special detective traveling with Lord Peckham's
party," explained the doorman. "He told us a lot about himself last
night after you boys went to bed. He came back to inquire how early the
judge would be here.
"He went on to tell how some English anarchists have vowed to kill Lord
Peckham because he foreclosed a lot of mortgages on some poor people in
Ireland where he owned property," added the doorman. "There was some
sort of explosions in the hotel, near where Lord Peckham had his rooms.
Maybe it was a bomb and, maybe ag'in it was only the boiler. Anyhow,
this detective jumped to the conclusion that anarchists had done it, and
he thinks you are responsible. But you'd better be goin' now. It's
gettin' daylight."
So Mark and Jack, with what scanty clothes they had, and carrying their
valise, went quietly out of the back door of the police station.
"We'd better go to the machine shop for the rest of the stuff,"
suggested Mark, "and then we can take the first trolley we see and get
back to the professor."
Through quiet side streets the boys made their way toward the machine
shop. They were somewhat amused to think how they had fooled the
detective, but they would not have felt so jolly had they seen the
roughly dressed man who had darted after them as soon as they left the
police station.
"I'll get you yet," the man muttered. "You needn't think to escape with
the aid of these bloomin' American police."
The lads found the machinist just opening his shop though it was quite
early. The pieces of apparatus were finished and, after paying for them
Mark put the parts in the valise.
"Quite a fire in town," observed the machinist.
"Yes," answered Mark, not wishing to get into a long conversation.
"Heard the hotel was blowed up by anarchists and that the police are
after 'em," proceeded the man.
"I believe I did hear something like that," admitted Mark. "I guess
we'll be going."
He signalled to Jack, and the two hurried out of the shop. As they did
so, the trampish-looking man glided from behind a tree where he had been
hiding and took after them.
"Say," exclaimed Jack, "I forgot we haven't had any breakfast yet."
"That's so," said Mark, rubbing his stomach and making a wry face.
Near by was a bakery, and there the lads got some coffee and rolls which
tasted fine. When they finished their simple meal a trolley came past
and they ran to catch it. So did the man who had been following them,
but this person bore no resemblance to the spruce little detective who
had wanted to arrest the boys.
"A couple of hours now and we'll be back at the cabin," spoke Mark. "My,
but I must say we have had strenuous times since we started away!"
There were few passengers on the trolley so early in the morning and not
many stops to make, so the motorman turned on the power full and made
the vehicle speed along.
Mile after mile was covered and finally the car reached the top of a
long hill. At the foot of this the line came to an end, and the boys had
a two mile tramp before them to reach the lonely spot where the
_Porpoise_ was docked.
Down the hill the car started. The motorman shut off the electricity and
let the vehicle run by its weight.
Faster and faster it ran, the dust flying in a cloud about it.
"Better put the brakes on a bit," called the conductor. "It's gettin'
kinder speedy, Hank!"
The motorman twisted the handle. There was a grinding noise as the shoes
took hold on the wheels. Then a chain snapped and the car seemed to leap
ahead.
"The brake's busted! I can't stop the car!" yelled the motorman.
Vainly he twisted at the handle. Then, seeing he could not stop the
trolley car he made a desperate jump off the vehicle and landed in a
heap on the side of the road, rolling over and over.
"Reverse the current!" cried one of the passengers, to the conductor.
"That ought to stop her!"
The conductor made his way to the front platform and turned the
reversing lever. Then he applied the current. But it was no use. With a
blinding flash and a report like that of a gun a fuse blew out, and that
crippled the car completely so far as the electric current was
concerned.
"Everybody jump!" cried the conductor. "There's a curve at the foot of
the hill, and we'll all be killed if we stay on!"
One by one the passengers leaped from the car. Several were badly hurt
by the falls they got. Meanwhile the trolley was tearing down the hill
at a terrific rate of speed.
"Shall we jump?" asked Mark of Jack.
"We'll be killed if we do," was Jack's answer.
"And we'll be killed if we stay aboard," said Mark.
"Not if I can help it," cried Jack as he started for the rear platform.
"What are you going to do?" asked Mark.
"Put on the other brake. They never thought to try this one! Maybe it
will work and stop the car!"
Then Mark saw what Jack was up to and went to help him. The shabbily
dressed man seemed undecided what to do. He stood up, holding to the
straps to prevent himself from being tossed from side to side as the
runaway trolley swayed. He watched the boys curiously.
The lads, reaching the rear platform, twisted at the brake handle with
all their strength. They could feel that the chain was still intact. But
would the shoes grip the wheels with force sufficient to stop the car?
There was a shrill screech as the brakes were applied by the boys. With
all their might they turned the handle, winding the chain up tighter and
tighter. At last they could not budge it another inch. Then they waited
anxiously.
The car never slackened its speed. So great was the momentum that had
both sets of brakes been in working order it is doubtful whether they
would have stopped the vehicle. The speed was so great now that one of
the journals became hot and the oily waste that was packed in it caught
fire, making what railroad men term a "hot box".
"I guess we're done for," groaned Mark.
"We certainly haven't checked the speed any," Jack admitted. "But wait a
minute."
He began stamping on the floor of the platform.
"What you doing?" cried Mark, for he had to shout to make his voice
heard above the roar and rattle of the car.
"Putting on the sand," replied Jack, as he kicked at the plunger which,
being depressed, let a stream of fine gravel out on the rails. "The
wheels are gripped I think, and are slipping on the rails. This may help
some."
"Let me give you a hand," exclaimed a voice, and the boys turned to see
the shabby man standing with them on the platform. He grasped the brake
handle, and gave it an additional turn. His strength seemed remarkable
for so small a man.
The speed of the car was checked a little, but the vehicle was still
speeding along at a rate that would soon bring it to destruction if not
halted before the curve was reached.
"That's a little better," observed Mark. "It's a good thing you were
here."
"Good for me, not so good for you," said the man with a peculiar smile.
"What do you mean?" asked Mark.
"I mean that I shall have to place you under arrest for attempting to
assassinate Lord Peckham!" exclaimed the man. "I am Detective Ducket, of
Scotland Yard!"
He stripped off a false beard he had donned, and threw back his coat,
displaying his shield. He was the same man who had attempted to arrest
the boys in the police station at Easton.
"I've got you just where I want you now," Detective Ducket went on.
"There are none of those blooming American police to interfere."
The next instant the car gave a sudden lurch. Then it seemed to rise up
in the air. Jack felt himself flying through space, and he observed
Mark, who was clinging to the valise, following him.
There was a terrific crash, a ripping, tearing splintering sound, and
the runaway trolley smashed into a big oak tree at the foot of the hill.
The vehicle had completely jumped the track at the sharp curve.
Jack's eyes grew dim, and he seemed to be sinking down in some dark pool
of water. He heard a splashing beside him and began to strike out,
trying to swim. He seemed to be choking. Then the blessed air and
daylight came to him, and he found he was floating on the surface of a
pond.
He dashed the water from his eyes and saw, over on the bank, the wreck
of the trolley. Then he noticed that Mark was swimming beside him.
"What happened?" asked Jack.
"A little of everything," panted Mark. "Lucky we weren't killed. We must
have been flung off the rear platform into this duck pond."
The boys soon made their way to shore, unhurt except for the wetting.
The fall into the water had saved their lives.
"Where's the valise of machinery?" asked Jack.
"There it is," answered Mark pointing to where it had fallen at the back
of the pond.
"And what became of Detective Ducket?"
"He's here, at your service!" exclaimed a voice. "Consider yourselves
under arrest and don't you dare to leave this place without me."
The boys looked in the direction of the sound and saw the English
officer lying on the grass not far away. He seemed in pain, but had
raised himself on his elbow and was pointing his finger sternly at the
boys.