Pierce frowned impatiently. "Tell me what is changed," he said.
Burgess squeezed his hat in his hands until his knuckles were pale. "For one, they have a new jack the line's put on, started today--- a new bloke, young one."
"He rides with you in the baggage van?"
"No, sir," Burgess said. "He only works the platform at the station. Stays at the station, he does."
Pierce shot a glance at Agar. It didn't matter if there were more guards at the platform. There could be a dozen guards, for all Pierce cared "What of it?" he said.
"Well, it's the new rule, you see."
"What new rule?"
"Nobody rides in the baggage car, save me as guard," Burgess said. "That's the new rule, and there's this new jack to keep it proper."
"I see," Pierce said. That was indeed a change.
"There's more," Agar said gloomily.
"Yes?"
Burgess nodded. "They've gone and fitted a lock to the luggage-van door. Outside lock, it is. Now they lock up in London Bridge, and unlock in Folkestone."
"Damn," Pierce said. He began to pace back and forth in the room. "What about the other stops? That train stops in Redhill, and at---"
"They've changed the rules," Burgess said. "That van is never unlocked till Folkestone."
Pierce continued to pace. "Why have they changed the routine?"
"It's on account of the afternoon fast train," Burgess explained. "There's two fast trains, morning train and afternoon train. Seems the afternoon van was robbed last week. Gentleman was robbed of a valuable parcel somehow--- collection of rare wine, I hear it to be. Anyhow, he puts a claim to the line or some such. The other guard's been fired, and there's all bloody hell to pay. Dispatcher his very self called me in this morning and dressed me down proper, warning me of this and that. Near cuffed me, he did. And the new jack at the platform's the station dispatcher's nephew. He's the one locks up in London Bridge, just before the train pulls out."
"Rare wines," Pierce said. "God in heaven, rare wines. Can we get Agar aboard in a trunk?"
Burgess shook his head "Not if they do like today. Today, this nephew, his name's McPherson, he's a Scotsman and eager--- badly wanting a job, as I look at it--- this McPherson makes the passengers open every trunk or parcel large enough to hold a man. Caused a considerable fray, I'll say. This nephew is a stickler. New to the work, you see, and wanting to do it all proper, and that's the way it is."
"Can we distract him and slip Agar in while he's not looking---"
"Not looking? Never's he not looking. He looks like a starved rat after a flake of cheese, looks here and there and everywhere. And when all the baggage's loaded, he climbs in, pokes about in all the corners seeing there's no lurkers. Then he climbs off and lock up."
Pierce plucked his pocket watch from his waistcoat. It was now ten o'clock at night. They had ten hours before the Folkestone train left the next morning. Pierce could think of a dozen clever ways to get Agar past a watchful Scotsman, but nothing that could be quickly arranged.
Agar, whose face was the very picture of gloom, must have been thinking the same thing. "Shall we put off until next month, then?"
"No," Pierce said. He immediately shifted to his next problem. "Now, this lock they've installed on the luggage-van door. Can it be worked from inside?"
Burgess shook his head. "It's a padlock--- hooks through a bolt and iron latch, outside."
Pierce was still pacing. "Could it be unlocked during one of the stops--- say, Redhill--- and then locked again at Tonbridge, further down the line?"
"Be a risk," Burgess said. "She's a fat lock, big as, your fist, and it might be noticed."
Pierce continued to pace. For a long time, his footsteps on the carpet and the ticking of the clock on the mantel were the only sounds in the room. Agar and Burgess watched him. Finally Pierce said, "If the van door is locked, how do you get ventilation?"
Burgess, looking a little confused, said, "Oh, there's air enough. That van's shoddy made, and when the train gets to speed, the breeze whistles through the cracks and chinks loud enough to pain your ears."
"I meant," Pierce said, "is there any apparatus for ventilation of the van?"
"Well, there's the slappers in the roof..."
"What're they?" Pierce said.
"Slappers? Slappers--- well, to speak true, they're not your proper slappers, on account of the lack of hinging. Many's the time I was wishing they were true slappers, I mean a slapper fit with hinging, and all the more when it rains--- then it's a cold puddle inside, I can tell you---"
"What is a slapper?" Pierce interrupted. "Time is short."
"A slapper? A slapper's what your railway folks call a manner of trap. She's a hinged door up in the roof, mounted center, and inside you've a rod to open or shut the slapper. Some of your slappers--- I mean proper slappers--- they fit two to a coach, facing opposite ways. That's so's one is always away from the wind. Now, other coaches, they've their slappers mounted both the same, but it's a bother in the yards, you see, for it means the coach must be clamped with the slappers backward, and---"
"And you have two of these slappers in the luggage van?"
"Aye, that's true," Burgess said, "but they're not proper, because they're fixed open, you see, no hinging on the van slappers, and so when it rains there I be, soaked through---"
"The slappers give access directly to the interior of the luggage van?"