with it in its fall, still pressing against his forehead. He
groaned as they dragged him out and laid him down upon a cushion
in the shelter of the wreckage.

"He's alive all right," the porter remarked. "There's a doctor on
the way. Let's cover him up quick and wait."

"Can't we carry him to shelter of some sort?" Gerald proposed.

The man shook his head. Speech of any sort was difficult. Even
with his lips close to the other's ears, he had almost to shout.

"Couldn't be done," he replied. "It's all one can do to walk alone
when you get out in the middle of the field, away from the shelter
of the embankment here. There's bits of trees flying all down the
lane. Never was such a night! Folks is fair afraid of the morning
to see what's happened. There's a mill blown right over on its side
in the next field, and the man in charge of it lying dead. This
poor chap's bad enough."

Gerald, on all fours, had crept back into the compartment. The
bottle of wine was smashed into atoms. He came out, dragging the
small dressing-case which his companion had kept on the table before
him. One side of it was dented in, but the lock, which was of great
strength, still held.

"Perhaps there's a flask somewhere in this dressing-case," Gerald
said. "Lend me a knife."

Strong though it had been, the lock was already almost torn out