Home Random Page


CATEGORIES:

BiologyChemistryConstructionCultureEcologyEconomyElectronicsFinanceGeographyHistoryInformaticsLawMathematicsMechanicsMedicineOtherPedagogyPhilosophyPhysicsPolicyPsychologySociologySportTourism






Chapter 8 Thin-face Appears

 

The next day, I overheard a curious echo of this conversation between Filmer and Daffodil. We were stopped at midday in a town called Thunder Bay, and as usual all the passengers were getting some fresh air out on the platform.

I saw Julius Filmer walking determinedly up the platform, towards the front of the train. I decided to keep up with him, but from the inside of the train: apart from anything else, it was warmer inside! I thought at first that he was just taking an open-air route to his own bedroom, but he carried on past that carriage. He was going to see his horse, no doubt.

About half-way up the train, however, he was stopped by a thin-faced man. They started to talk to each other, but to my annoyance I couldn't hear what they were saying, and I couldn't understand their hand signals on their own. But then their discussion became more heated and they began to raise their voices.

'I said before Vancouver,' Filmer shouted at Thin-face.

'You said before Winnipeg,' Thin-face shouted back, 'and I've
done it, and I want my money.' '•

Just then they were interrupted by the awful Daffodil, who wanted Filmer to accompany her to see Laurentide Ice. I silently cursed her: it had been getting interesting. What eke could they have been talking about other than the sabotage on the Lorrimores' car? Filmer and Daffodil walked away up towards the horse-car. Thin-face crossed the tracks by the foot-bridge and went over to the main station.

I badly wanted a photograph of Thin-face to show to Baudelaire. I ran back to my room and fetched my camera. But just as I was getting into position to take a picture, the Canadian pulled into the station. It stopped on the track between me and the station, and perfectly blocked my view of Thin-face.

I cursed my bad luck and again cursed Daffodil for interrupt­ing the conversation. But perhaps I shouldn't curse Daffodil. The thought entered my mind that she and Filmer would be at least fifteen minutes walking to the horse-car, inspecting their pride and joy, and then walking back again. This could be the opportunity I'd been waiting for: Filmer was away, and the train was fairly empty.

I returned my camera to my room and then carried on down the train until I reached Filmer's room. I looked both ways up and down the corridor to make sure no one was watching me, took a deep breath and opened the door. If I'd paused for more thought, I perhaps wouldn't have had the nerve, but I was inside! A quick search of his drawers and cupboard showed nothing interesting or important. I dropped to my knees and looked under his bed. There was a shiny, black, leather briefcase there. I pulled it out and placed it on the bed. It was locked, of course, with the type of lock which relied on a series of numbers; the left-hand lock used three numbers, and the right-hand one another three.

How long did I have before Filmer came back? Might he not even now be outside in the corridor? What if someone else came in — a member of staff, for instance? What possible excuse would I have? None at all. The very thought made me begin to sweat. I wiped my hands on my trousers and turned to the right-hand wheels.



The right-hand wheels were set at 137.I set to work, going upward through the numbers: 138, 139, 140 ... I was listening for the tiny difference in noise that might indicate when the numbers were correct; but I was also testing the lock by hand, to make sure. My fingers shook: 147, 148, 149 ... My face was sweating . . . 150,151 . . .

The lock flew open at 151.I could hardly believe my luck. But how long had it taken me? I had lost track of time. The danger was great, but I had to see if the left-hand lock was set to the same number. No, it wasn't; I decided not to try the left-hand wheels any more. I rolled all six wheels back to their original numbers and silently left the room.

Later I described Thin-face to George, but he didn't recognize him and couldn't say whether he was on the train.

'We did have a bad man on board once,' he said. 'A couple of years ago, it must have been. As a matter of fact, he was a waiter, like you.'

'What did he do?' I asked.

'He tried to put drugs in everyone's food,' said George.

I had an idea. 'George,' I said, 'do all the horses share the food I saw in the horse-car, or do any of them have their own special food?'

'Yes,' he replied, 'one of them does. The groom gives his horse special food from bags labelled "Sunday evening", "Monday morning", and so on. He was showing them to me.'

'Which horse?' I asked.

'The one belonging to Mrs Quentin,' said George. 'The groom said one of her horses died recently from the wrong food, so she was being extra cautious.'

 


Date: 2015-12-24; view: 606


<== previous page | next page ==>
Chapter 7 Sheridan's Rudeness | Chapter 9 A Frightened Groom
doclecture.net - lectures - 2014-2024 year. Copyright infringement or personal data (0.007 sec.)