Death in the Tunnel by Miles Burton Page A

weighing at least fifty pounds slung round your neck, and the coach moving?”
    â€œOh, damn the battery!” Arnold exclaimed. “This chap did it, anyhow. You admit that his only possible reason for slowing down the train was that he could board it. What did he board it for? To get a free ride to Stourford?”
    â€œYou think that finding these lamps in the tunnel is sufficient evidence that Saxonby was murdered?”
    â€œNo, I don’t. By themselves, the lamps are evidence that the driver and fireman were speaking the truth, and no more. But the fact that the train was deliberately slowed down by some unauthorised person considerably strengthens the possibility of murder. We can say now that we have reason to believe that some one got on to the train in the tunnel. We have to find that person, and discover whether he knows anything about Sir Wilfred’s death.”
    â€œThat’s very clearly put,” said Merrion approvingly. “But, you know, all the difficulties which we discussed yesterday still remain. How did the man know that Saxonby was alone, or which compartment he occupied? For he must have entered the train by that particular compartment. You see why. All the others were occupied, and his sudden entry into any of them from the tunnel would have caused at least a mild surprise. Then, what became of him? You’ll have to interview those twenty-four first-class passengers, I’m afraid.”
    â€œMarden, down at Stourford, is rounding them up for me. They all live round about there, as it happens. I shall have to go down and see him to-morrow, and hear what he’s done. Care to come?”
    Merrion agreed, readily enough. The problem fascinated him, since every possible solution presented apparently insuperable difficulties. He had seen for himself the impossibility of entering or leaving the tunnel unobserved. Yet somebody must have entered it, or how could the presence of the lamps be explained? That they had been casually thrown from a passing train was too fantastic a theory to be entertained for a moment.
    And how had the man left the tunnel? In the train, or on foot? The former seemed most likely. He had taken Saxonby’s ticket, and hid in the lavatory till the train got to Stourford. That was it, undoubtedly. As for the battery, he must have thrown it out of the window, somewhere between the tunnel and Stourford. Since nobody had been allowed to get out of the coach without giving a name and address, it ought to be possible to trace him.
    Merrion laid this reasoning before Arnold on their way to Stourford next morning. The inspector saw the force of it, and it was evidently in his mind when they met Marden at the police station. For his first question was, “Have you traced all those twenty-four passengers, Mr. Marden?”
    â€œEvery one of them,” Marden replied. “It wasn’t difficult for they are all local people, and there’s nothing in any way suspicious about any of them.”
    â€œYes, but are you quite sure that they all got into the train at Cannon Street? That’s the point.”
    â€œAs sure as any one can be. They have all given accounts of their movements, which can be checked. But the curious thing is that there ought to be twenty-five of them, instead of twenty-four.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, Mr. Marden?” Arnold asked eagerly.
    â€œWhy, so far as I can make out, there was one passenger who got on to the train at Cannon Street who wasn’t in the coach when it reached here. I expect you’ll like to hear the story at first hand. If so, I’ll take you to see a couple of ladies who live close here. Mrs. Clutsam a widow, and her daughter.”
    Marden took them to a fine old house on the outskirts of the town, and introduced them to Mrs. Clutsam. She was quite ready to repeat her story, and called her daughter to support her.
    â€œWe had been up to London for the day to do some