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 attentively.

"If I cannot get to Harwich," he asked, "is there any possibility
of keeping straight on and reaching Yarmouth?"

The guard hesitated.

"We haven't heard anything about the line from Ipswich to Norwich,