"Is this the London train?" he demanded, not concealing his terror.
"No, it isn't. It's the Birmingham train," said one of the men
fiercely--a sort of a Levite.
"Great heavens!" ejaculated Arthur Cotterill.
"You ought to inquire before you get into a train," said the Levite.
"The fact is," said the other man, who was perhaps a cousin of a Good
Samaritan, "the express from Manchester is split up at Knype--one part
for London, and the other part for Birmingham."
"I know that," said Arthur Cotterill.
"Ever since I can remember the London part has gone off first."
"Of course," said Arthur; "I've travelled by it lots of times."
"But they altered it only last week."
"I only just caught the train," Arthur breathed.
"Seems to me you didn't catch it," said the Levite.
"_I must be in London before two o'clock_," said Arthur, and he said it
so solemnly, he said it with so much of his immortal soul, that even the
Levite was startled out of his callous indifference.
"There are expresses from Birmingham to London that do the journey in
two hours," said he.
"Let us see," said the cousin of a Good Samaritan, kindly, opening a bag
and producing Bradshaw.
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