“I’m most dreadfully sorry,” Pierce said. He started to get out himself, to lend assistance.
The last thing Fowler wanted was assistance. “You shouldn’t smoke anyway, if your doctor has warned you that trains are hazardous to your health,” he snapped. “Come, my dear,” he said to the girl, “my compartment is just this way, and we can continue our conversation with no danger of noxious fumes.” The girl went willingly.
“Dreadfully sorry,” Pierce said again, but neither of them looked back.
A moment later, the whistle blew and the engine began to chug. Pierce stepped into his compartment, shut the door, and watched London Bridge Station slide away past his window as the morning train to Folkestone began to gather speed.
PART FOUR : THE GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY : May, 1855
Chapter 42
A Remarkable Revival
Burgess, locked in the windowless luggage van, knew by now the location of the train at any moment by the sound of the track. He heard first the smooth clacking of the wheels on the well-laid rails of the yard. Then, later, the hollow, more resonant tones as the train crossed Bermondsey on the elevated overpass for several miles, and, still later, a transition to a deader sound and a rougher ride, signaling the beginning of the southward run outside London and into the countryside.
Burgess had no inkling of Pierce’s plan, and he was astonished when the coffin bell began to ring. He attributed it to the vibration and sway of the train, but a few moments later there was a pounding, and then a muffled voice. Unable to make out the words, he approached the coffin.
“Open up, damn you,” the voice said.
“Are you alive?” Burgess asked, in tones of wonderment.
“It’s Agar, you damnable flat,” came the answer.
Burgess hastily began to throw the catches on the coffin lid. Soon after, Agar— covered in a dreadful green paste, smelling horrible, but acting in normal enough fashion— got out of the coffin and said, “I must be quick. Get me those satchels there.” He pointed to the five leather valises stacked in a corner of the van.
Burgess hurried to do so. “But the van is locked,” It said. “How will it be opened?”
“Our friend,” Agar said, “is a mountaineer.”
Agar opened the safes and removed the first of the strongboxes, breaking the seal and taking out the dull gold bars of bullion— each stamped with a royal crown and the initials “H & B.” He replaced them with small bags of sewn shot, which he took from the valises.
Burgess watched in silence. The train was now rumbling almost due south, past the Crystal Palace, toward Croyden and Redhill. From there it would go east to Folkestone.
“A mountaineer?” Burgess said finally.
“Yes,” Agar said. “He’s coming over the tops of the train to unlock us.”
“When?” Burgess said, frowning.
“After Redhill, returning to his coach before Ashford. It’s all open country there. Almost no chance of being seen.” Agar did not glance up from his work.
“Redhill to Ashford? But that’s the fastest part of the run.”
“Aye, I suppose,” Agar said.
“Well, then,” Burgess said, “your friend is mad.”
Chapter 43
The Origin of Audacity
At one point in the trial of Pierce, the prosecutor lapsed into a moment of frank admiration. “Then it is not true,” said the prosecutor, “that you had any experience of the recreation of mountaineering?”
“None,” Pierce said. “I merely said that to reassure Agar.”
“You had not met Mr. Coolidge, nor read extensively on the subject, nor owned any of the particular devices and apparatus considered vital to that activity of mountaineering?”
“No,” Pierce said.
“Had you, perhaps, some past experiences of athletic or physical endeavor which persuaded you of your ability to carry out your intended plan?”
“None,” Pierce said.
“Well, then,” said the prosecutor, “I must inquire, if only for reasons of ordinary human curiosity, what on earth, sir, led you to suppose that without prior training, or knowledge, or special equipment, or athletic prowess— what on earth led you to believe you might succeed in such a palpably dangerous and, may I say, nearly suicidal undertaking as clambering about on a swift-moving railway train? Wherever did you find the audacity for such an act?”