Murder At Deviation Junction Read Online Free PDF Page A

loop with siding attached. Over Crystal's
shoulder, beyond the 'up' end of the platform, I could see the white bank that
led up to the black edge of the woods overlooking that end of the station. It
was lit up by the danger lamp of the signal standing at the foot of it. As I
looked on, two of the gangers seemed to be fired out of those woods and began
scrambling down the bank.
        'Takes
the worst of the weather, does this place,' Crystal was saying.
        Under
the red display, the two gangers tumbled fast down the incline, creating an
explosion of snow.
        'Quick
judgment,' Crystal was saying. 'That's the leading requirement of a man in my
place ...'
        The
first two had gained the 'up' end of the platform now, and here they started to
run. Behind and above them, four more men came out of the woods, though at a
slower pace than the first four; and these four slow men were carrying a
cricket bag between them (that was my first thought, at any event) which they
kept level as they came down the bank, boots first, in a controlled slide.
        Crystal
was saying, 'And of course, the rule book only gets you so far . . .'
        The
first of the running blokes was level with us now.
        'Mr
Crystal,' he panted, 'you've to send . . . You've to get . . . You've to get a
wire ...'
        The
bloke was out of puff, couldn't get the words out. Crystal, about ready to blow
up at this impertinence, was turning slowly towards him. The cricket bag was no
cricket bag, but a horse blanket, and it was coming up fast behind Crystal like
a dark wave.
        The
four men spread it before the stationmaster's boots, under the rushing snow:
cricket stumps threaded through black broadcloth. That's what the body looked
like. The suit coat was open, and beneath it was a yellowish stuff like
pasteboard - the flesh of the man himself. There was no head, but then I saw
the skull, resting by the waist. One of the blokes picked it up, set it down on
the blanket at the top of the suit coat, and then stepped back to look, as if
he'd just finished a jigsaw. The skull seemed too small: just a topknot, a
tiny, dinted stone - something to be going on with until a more impressive
object was found.
        We
all kept silence.
        Mr
Crystal's arms were tightly folded. I could not recall him standing like that
before, but I knew what he was thinking: paperwork. He stared down at
the body as the snow fell.
        Paperwork
by the armful.
        Presently,
one of the blokes said, 'Seen better days, that lad has.'
        Crystal
turned towards the nearest bloke:
        'Why
d'you bring it to me?'
        'You're
the governor, en't you?' said another of the blokes.
        'Was it
discovered inside station bounds?'
        One
of the four who'd carried the blanket jerked his thumb in the direction of
'up':
        'Wayside
cabin over yonder. Stowed under a load of stuff, he was.'
        'What
stuff?'
        'Fire
irons, coal, sacking - general railway articles.'
        Crystal
flashed into rage.
        'That
cabin's disused. It's for the old line that was taken up. What were you doing
in there?'
        'Tommy
Granger -' said the spokesman, pointing to one of his fellows. 'He was hunting
up a shovel.'
        'Why
did he not have his own shovel?'
        'That
doesn't matter,' I put in.
        'Every
man was specifically instructed to fetch his own shovel,' Crystal was saying,
as I held up my warrant card in the view of everyone.
        'Very
likely a felony's been committed,' I said. 'I'll take charge.'
        'A
felony?' said Crystal. Then: 'You'll bloody not take charge' - and he'd cursed.
He coloured up immediately, but carried on speaking. 'As stationmaster it falls
to me to investigate all the circumstances, and make up a report for the line
superintendent.'
        I
thought: I'm going to have to arrest the bugger. He'll lose his position.
        'This
falls under the head of "accident