The fireman had unhooked a gauge lamp and was already on the ground. Bragg and Parry followed as quickly as they could, each from his own side.
When Parry reached the ballast he stumbled backward past the tender, slipping about on the rough stones. The fireman was already some thirty yards away along the line, and was standing between the rails, bending over something dark. Instinctively Parry held his breath as he raced to the fireman’s side. When he saw what was there his heart was pounding so that he could scarcely breathe.
The dark mass was a man, or what was left of a man. The engine had passed over him and the resulting injuries were terrible. That he was dead there could be no doubt whatever. Parry felt suddenly sick as he stared speechless.
Then he gave a hoarse cry. This man had been clothed in a waterproof and heavy boots. His left hand was stretched out and on its little finger was a ring, a plain gold band bearing a single ruby …
With a single blistering expletive Parry snatched the torch from Bragg, who had by this time come up, and held it close to the face. The features were only slightly disfigured and were plainly recognisable. This dead body, this awful wreck of what had been a man, this was all that remained of his colleague, Ronald Ackerley.
3
Inquest
Trembling as if from ague, Parry heard faintly the fireman’s awestruck cry, ‘My God, it’s Mr Ackerley!’ and Bragg’s sharp horrified oath. All three, indeed, were overpowered by the ghastliness of the tragedy. And the fact that nothing could be done for the unhappy young man took away the stimulus of the need for instant action.
Presently Bragg swore again and with an obvious effort pulled himself together. ‘He’s gone, poor chap,’ he muttered. ‘We can’t do anything. Here, Atkins,’ he turned to the fireman, ‘help me to lift him clear of the road. You, Parry, cut along and tell Blake what has happened.’
In a dream Parry stumbled back to the engine, realising in a numbed kind of way that Bragg had sent him on this message to save him from seeing more clearly the dreadful details of the tragedy. In a dream he climbed up on to the footplate and began telling the news to Blake. But he scarcely knew what he was saying, and when in the middle of his story Blake crossed the cab and answered someone on the ground, he felt no surprise. Presently he realised that Bragg and the fireman were there. Bragg was speaking from the step.
‘Run in to Redchurch as quickly as you can, Blake,’ he was saying. ‘Tell the stationmaster to have an ambulance sent out. I’ll wait here with the body.’ Bragg paused and looked doubtfully at Parry. ‘I say, Parry,’ he went on hesitatingly, ‘you know the Ackerleys, don’t you? Think you can slip up and tell them? A rotten job, I know. If you don’t feel like it, get Clay to ’phone. Go ahead now.’ He stepped back on to the ballast and Blake once again gave his engine steam.
Parry had already been thinking of the Ackerleys. How could he force himself to take them this awful news? How could he go and see Pearl? She had always ragged Ronnie unmercifully, but Parry knew she idolised him. It would be a knock-out blow for Pearl. And for all of them. Indeed, Parry thought it would be even worse for the old people; Mrs Ackerley so fond of her son, Mr Ackerley so proud of him. How would it be possible to tell them? …
While these thoughts passed through his mind, Parry remained dimly conscious of his surroundings. The engine was now running at a high speed and already Blake had shut off steam for Redchurch and was sounding his whistle to announce his approach to the signalman. The yellow eye of the distant signal came up rapidly and slipped behind, and Blake began to apply the brake. That red light ahead was the outer home and at that, if it did not go off, they must stop. Though he could scarcely face what lay in front of him, Parry was now seized with impatience and felt that any delay would be unbearable. However, when they were still some hundred yards from the signal it changed to green, and Blake, releasing the brake, allowed his engine to coast forward. A further bunch of red lights approached, with a single green one at the extreme left. These drew near, passed slowly behind, and the engine turned gently to the left off the main line, and entering the locomotive yard, came to rest among some dozen of its fellows.
Blake wound his reversing wheel into middle gear. ‘Come on, Mr Parry,’ he said. ‘We’ll go and tell Mr Clay.’
Still in a dream, Parry followed the driver across the locomotive sidings and up the ramp of No. 1 Platform to the stationmaster’s office. Clay was a small man with an alert manner. He heard the story, rapidly expressed a conventional horror, and took hold of the situation.
‘If the poor fellow’s dead there’s not such a hurry,’ he said. ‘We’ll let the 6.10 through and go out between her and the 6.25 goods. You, Blake, will work out the van.’ He sat down at his desk and picked up one of its two telephones. ‘Redchurch, one double-six,’ he called, then, ‘It that the police station? Clay speaking, Southern Railway agent. Is the superintendent there? … Good evening, superintendent. Yes, Clay speaking. It’s just been reported to me that Mr Ronald Ackerley, one of the Company’s engineers, has been run over and killed at Downey’s Point, halfway between this and Whitness. What? Yes, the solicitor’s son … What? I didn’t catch? … Oh, yes, very sad. Well, superintendent, I propose sending out a special to bring in the body. It’ll leave here on the arrival of the 6.10 from Whitness, say about 6.15. I’ll be glad to know if this is in order from your point of view and if you’d like to be represented … Very good, if he comes down to my office I’ll see that someone meets him.’
Mr Clay replaced the receiver and picked up that of the other instrument, pressing a buzzer in code. ‘Who’s that? Yes, Clay speaking. Find Sparkes, will you, and tell him that a man has been run over between this and Whitness and that I want him to take a van out with the ambulance stretcher on the arrival of the 6.10. Blake will work it with the ballast engine. Get a couple of men to give a hand. Start from No. 1 Carriage Siding and don’t go without me. That clear?’ He rang off and then made another call. ‘That the junction box? Who is speaking? … Oh, Harris,’ and he explained what was to be done.
While these arrangements were being made, Parry had taken a firm hold on himself. ‘What about telling the Ackerleys, Mr Clay?’ he said in a low voice as Blake disappeared.
‘I was going to speak to you about that,’ Clay returned. ‘Will you do it or shall I?’
‘You better prepare them, I think, and say I’m going up to see them. And we’d better send a message to Mr Marlowe.’
Marlowe was Parry’s chief, the Lydmouth divisional engineer.
‘I’m going to wire the manager and I’ll duplicate it; Yourself to Marlowe.’ As he spoke Clay looked keenly at the other. ‘If you’ll not consider it a liberty, Mr Parry, I’d recommend you to call in the refreshment room and get a small pick-me-up. You’ll find it pretty trying talking to the Ackerleys.’
It was good advice and Parry took it. He felt badly shaken and his heart failed him as he thought of the coming interview. However, there was nothing to be gained by delay and when he took a taxi he told the man to drive quickly.
Parry had frequently read of a ‘stricken’ household, but he had always considered the phrase a piece of fanciful journalese. Now he saw that the adjective was just. No word which he could have supplied could more aptly have described the Ackerleys’.
The maid who opened the door was pale and startled-looking. ‘I see you know, Ethel,’ Parry said. The girl nodded in silence and Parry passed on into the hall. Mr Ackerley was just turning away from the telephone, and when he saw him Parry involuntarily shuddered. Why, this was an old man, ten years older than when he had seen him last. His face was gray and had somehow fallen in, and there were unwonted lines round the mouth. He came slowly forward to Parry, walking heavily as if a physical weight bore on his shoulders.
‘How did it happen?’ he said in little more than a whisper.
Parry felt overwhelmed. ‘We don’t know, sir,’ he answered, also in a low tone. ‘All I can say is that it was instantaneous; ther
e was no suffering. But we don’t know how he came to be on the line. Unless he tripped and struck his head on the rail,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘They’re bringing him in,’ went on Mr Ackerley dully. ‘I must go down.’
‘I’ll go with you, sir.’ Parry hesitated. ‘What about Mrs Ackerley and—and Pearl?’
‘They know; I’ve told them.’
Still Parry hung back. ‘I was wondering, sir, if I could do anything. Could I ring up your guests, for instance, and put them off?’
‘Guests?’ Mr Ackerley stared uncomprehendingly. ‘Oh, yes, there was to be a dance.’ He spoke as if in a dream. ‘Thank you, Parry; it’s good of you to think of it. Ethel will get you the list. Call Ethel. I must go.’
Fumblingly he began looking for his coat. Parry found it for him and was holding it when there came a diversion. A slight, pale-faced girl came running downstairs.
‘No, Clifford,’ she said. ‘I heard what you were talking about. Don’t mind about the people; we’ll see to that. Go with him to the station.’
‘I will, of course,’ Parry returned. He would have gone on, but she raced upstairs as quickly as she had come down.
‘A taxi,’ Mr Ackerley directed. ‘It would take too long to get the car.’
Parry had kept his, and a few minutes later they reached the station. Here they learned that the engine and van had gone out, but had not yet returned. On the way down, Parry had given the old man all the details he knew. Silence had then fallen between them. Once only Mr Ackerley’s lips moved. ‘Oh, Ronnie, Ronnie,’ Parry heard him whisper. ‘Oh, my son, my son.’ Parry did not think he was conscious of his presence.
Presently lights appeared approaching the platform, and the engine and van came slowly in. News of the accident had spread and a little crowd of railway people had collected, though the public had been rigorously excluded from the platform. Bragg and Clay stepped from the van and under the latter’s directions the side doors were opened and while caps were doffed two men slowly carried out a stretcher on which lay a figure covered with a white sheet. A space had been cleared in a store near Clay’s office and there on a table the stretcher was laid. Mr Ackerley pushed forward, deferential way being made for him.
‘Can’t he be taken home, Mr Clay,’ he asked.
Clay hesitated. ‘I’m afraid, sir, there’ll have to be an inquest and we thought it might be more convenient to hold it here at the station. What do you say, sergeant?’
A sergeant of police had followed Clay from the van. He now saluted Mr Ackerley.
‘It would be better, sir, for all concerned, if the remains were left here till after the inquest. You need not be afraid. Everything will be done with the greatest reverence.’
‘The room will be locked, Mr Ackerley,’ went on Clay. ‘No one will be able to enter.’
‘Very well,’ Mr Ackerley returned slowly. ‘I see it can’t be helped. Thank all of you for what you have done.’
Clay began to murmur some words of sympathy, while the sergeant saluted again. Then Clay bent over to Parry.
‘Take him home, Mr Parry. He’s upset from the shock.’
But Mr Ackerley wanted all details, and Parry introduced Bragg and the fireman, though they could not add to what he had himself already stated. No one was able to say how the accident had happened, or how Ackerley came to be where he was found.
In the end Parry went back with the old gentleman. But he did not see Pearl. The ladies were upstairs and could not be disturbed. Mr Ackerley murmured something about his staying for dinner, but Parry excused himself and came away.
When he reached the station he found the sergeant waiting for him. Respectfully the man asked for a statement, and Parry described what had taken place. Bragg had by this time gone on to Lydmouth, and Parry, left alone in Redchurch, took a sharp walk before making his way back to his rooms.
The inquest had been fixed for eleven o’clock on the following morning, and shortly before that hour Parry found himself once more on No. 1 Platform at Redchurch. With him were Mr Ackerley, Bragg, Clay, Driver Blake, Fireman Atkins, and three or four other men. One of the waiting-rooms had been commandeered and the police were busy arranging it for the inquest. A crowd of the curious stood round, staring at everyone concerned.
Mr Ackerley, though still pale and aged-looking, had regained his normal composure and stood talking to a short, middle-aged man with a thin, legal-looking face. This was Mr Loxton, his partner, who apparently was going to appear for him. Talking to Bragg was Hugo Graham, the chief assistant engineer in the Lydmouth office, and the Railway Company’s local solicitor, Mr Kenyon. With the driver and fireman, who seemed somehow incongruous in their best clothes, was a sharp-looking man in gray tweeds. This, Parry knew, was George Thompson, the local representative of the Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Firemen.
Clay had been hovering over the group as a hen mothers her chickens. ‘Now, gentlemen, if you please,’ he said at last. ‘The coroner’s waiting.’
A move was made across the platform and the party filed into the waiting-room. It was a large room with a table down the centre and chairs along each side. At the head of the table sat the coroner, Mr Latimer, a local solicitor. The chair next him was kept vacant, but in the second and third places Mr Ackerley and his partner, Loxton, sat down. Then came the Company’s representative, Graham and Kenyon, with Bragg and Parry behind them. Thompson of the A.S.L.E. & F. sat next to Kenyon, with Driver Blake and Fireman Atkins behind him. Beside the fireman was a permanent-way man, Mutch, the ganger of the Whitness length, though what he was there for Parry didn’t know. At the table beyond Thompson were two or three reporters. Clay, after hovering anxiously round, had at last subsided behind Mr Ackerley.
The chairs at the opposite side of the table had been kept vacant, and now Sergeant Hart, the man who had gone out with the special, called the jurors to those places. When they were sworn the coroner glanced round and said that before they proceeded to business he was sure that all present would wish to join with him in tendering to Mr Ackerley and his family their sincere sympathy in this most distressing affair.
Upon this up jumped Mr Kenyon. He said that on behalf of the Railway Company he wished to associate himself with all that the coroner had said, and to add that the Company was anxious to assist the inquiry in every way possible by producing all the evidence available. ‘We have the driver and firemen and several officials here, and if there is anyone else you would like to have present, you, sir,’ he bowed to the coroner, ‘have only to say so.’
Sergeant Hart did not look too well pleased at this calm taking of the credit for what he had done, but he refrained from putting his feelings into words. Thompson then rose and said that on behalf of the men of the Locomotive Department he also wished to associate himself … Mr Ackerley, obviously struggling with emotion, briefly returned thanks and the coroner bowed and said, ‘Horace George Ackerley,’ adding, ‘Don’t trouble, Mr Ackerley, to move. You’re quite all right there.’
Mr Ackerley, sworn, said in a low voice that he had seen the remains and they were those of Ronald George Ackerley, his son. He gave some details of the young man’s career, explaining that for the last four years his work had permitted him to live at home. Ronald was unmarried, and so far as Mr Ackerley knew, was not engaged. Witness had last seen his son at breakfast on the previous morning, and he then seemed in perfect health and in his normal good spirits.
Mr Grahame, the chief assistant engineer, was then called. He corroborated the details of the deceased’s career since he joined the railway staff, adding that since Ackerley had come to the Lydmouth office he had worked steadily and well, and that his appointment as resident engineer in charge of the Whitness Widening was promotion and an outward and visible sign of the confidence which his superiors reposed in him. Deceased had fully justified this confidence, having carried on efficiently since his appointment. So far as Grahame knew, Ackerley had no worries, was keen on his job, got
on well with his colleagues and seemed to enjoy his life.
‘Clifford Parry.’
Parry, feeling more nervous than the occasion appeared to warrant, moved forward to the chair beside the coroner and was sworn. Mr Latimer began with a number of general questions, then came to the previous evening.
‘About half past four you and the deceased left your office at Whitness in company and proceeded along the railway in the direction of Redchurch?’
‘That is so.’
‘What was your purpose in doing so?’
‘The inspection of certain works. Mr Ackerley wished to see a slip which was giving trouble at Cannan’s Cutting and also he intended to have an interview with a Mr Potts about a right of way. I wanted to check the measurement of some sea pitching at the Cannan’s Cutting end of Browne’s Bay. We walked together up to this point.’
‘Where did you separate?’
‘At the pitching.’
‘At what hour was that?’
Parry hesitated. ‘It must have been a few minutes past five,’ he said at length. ‘I don’t remember exactly, but I should estimate about ten minutes past five.’
‘Quite so. As a matter of fact another witness will prove it was at twelve minutes past.’
Parry was a little taken aback. He had not known they were overlooked. Then he remembered Mutch, the ganger who had passed just as he and Ackerley separated. This, of course, was what the man had been brought for.
‘Was the deceased in a thoroughly normal condition when you parted?’
‘Absolutely, so far as I know.’
‘What was the last you saw of him?’
‘He was walking on towards Downey’s Point as I began to pace the pitching.’
Mr Latimer took a fresh sheet of paper, making a little pause as if at the end of a chapter.
‘What then did you do?’ he resumed.
‘I paced the dimensions of the pitching and in a few minutes found the error I had been looking for. I walked back then to the office at Whitness.’
Death on the Way Page 3