Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 7, 2025
Shorely saw it was open at C, and, looking down the column to Channor, he found that a train left in about twenty minutes. Without a word, he dashed down the stairs again. The "man" did not seem astonished. Queer fish sometimes came to see his master. "Can you get me to Euston Station in twenty minutes?" The cabman shook his head, as he said
Shorely thought of engaging a special, but realised he hadn't money enough. Perhaps he could telegraph and warn the people of Channor Chase, but he did not know to whom to telegraph. Or, again, he thought he might have Gibberts arrested on some charge or other at Channor Station. That, he concluded, was the way out dangerous, but feasible.
"Goodness!" said one old lady. "You don't mean to say that Channor Chase is the scene of your story, and where the tragedy was to take place?" "Of course it is," cried Gibberts, gleefully. "Didn't you recognise the local colour? I thought I described Channor Chase down to the ground, and did I not tell you you were all my victims? I always forget some important detail when telling a story.
"I'll do my best, sir, but we ought to have a good half-hour." The driver did his best, and landed Shorely on the departure platform two minutes after the train had gone. "When is the next train to Channor?" demanded Shorely of a porter. "Just left, sir." "The next train hasn't just left, you fool. Answer my question." "Two hours and twenty minutes, sir," replied the porter, in a huff.
The reading left him in a state of nervous collapse. He tried to remember whether or not he had burned Gibberts' letter. If he had left it on his table, anything might happen. It was incriminating evidence. The local was five minutes late at the Junction, and it crawled over the fifteen miles back to Channor in the most exasperating way, losing time with every mile.
I'm going to commit that so-called crime. One week after you publish the story, I'm going down to that country house, Channor Chase. It is my house, if there was justice and right in England, and I'm going to slaughter every one in it. I will leave a letter, saying the story in the Sponge is the true story of what led to the tragedy.
However, have no fears; I shall stand to my bargain, without any goading from you. Only a few days have elapsed since the publication of the story, and I did not promise the tragedy before the week was out. I leave for Channor Chase this afternoon. You shall have your pound of flesh, and more. Yours, Shorely was somewhat pale about the lips when he had finished this scrawl.
At Channor he found the London train had come and gone. "Did a man in a long ulster get off, and " "For Channor Chase, sir?" "Yes. Has he gone?" "Oh yes, sir! The dog-cart from the Chase was here to meet him, sir." "How far is it?" "About five miles by road, if you mean the Chase, sir." "Can I get a conveyance?" "I don't think so, sir.
By this time, however, the porter had recovered his equanimity. Porters cannot afford to cherish resentment, and this particular porter saw half a crown in the air. "Did you wish to reach Channor before the train that's just gone, sir?" "Yes. Can it be done?"
It will carry you fifteen miles beyond Channor, to Buley Junction, then in seventeen minutes you can get a local back to Channor, which is due three minutes before the down train reaches there if the local is in time," he added, when the gold piece was safe stowed in his pocket.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking