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Updated: June 17, 2025
I might have stayed there, but I was so excited I didn't know what I was doing. What place is this, anyhow?" "This is Lakeport," answered Bert. "The station's down the track a little way. Your train hadn't got to it yet." "No, the other train got in the way," said the man with a smile. "Well, accidents will happen, I suppose. So this is Lakeport!
You'll be sure to knaw 'bout it sooner or late, so I'll tell 'e now. I've done a thing I must pay for, and 't is a clink job, so I've comed right along." The warder grew rather sterner, and his eye instinctively roamed for a constable. "Best say no more, then. Awnly you've comed to the wrong place. Police station's what you want, I reckon." "Why for? This be County Gaol, ban't it?"
Like a kid with a brand-new toy!" A moment later Scott, Tom, and Roger, in a vacuum elevator, were being hurtled to the station's upper decks. They got out on the observation deck, and Scott walked directly to a small door at the end of a corridor. A light over the door flashed red and Scott stopped. "Here's the weather and meteor observation room," he said. "Also radar communications.
Parcel for Wilcox, Howards End. Just look sharp!" Emerging, he said in quieter tones: "This station's abominably organised; if I had my way, the whole lot of 'em should get the sack. May I help you in?" "This is very good of you," said Mrs. Munt, as she settled herself into a luxurious cavern of red leather, and suffered her person to be padded with rugs and shawls.
"If I weren't in such an infernal hurry to reach Bombay " Hyde grumbled; and King nearly laughed aloud then, for the thief knew English, and was listening with all his ears, " may I be damned if I wouldn't get off at this station and wait to see that scoundrel brought to justice!" The train jerked itself to a standstill, and a man with a lantern began to chant the station's name. "Damn it!
"Take it easy, little wonder," he answered, with a smile which made of his patronage a tribute. "I haven't got this far to crack in the last lap. I'm thinking out a pretty story for the Sunday Magazine; so no murders, please. They make me nervous. We're all right for a bit next station's fifteen miles ahead. They're getting their wind next door, and talking it over."
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