The Red Signal (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (13 page)

“What do you reckon she is, a servant of one of the big men on the road?” he asked presently. “She doesn't talk like a servant, nor look like one,” answered the conductor, getting out his tin box and beginning to sort out his tickets.

“She might be a governess or something.”

“But what would she be doing at that German dump? She doesn't look like one of those.”

“Search me,” said the brakeman with a shrug.

Nevertheless, he hovered near Hilda's seat all the way to Philadelphia and was most assiduous about opening and shutting windows when they went through a tunnel, eyeing her appreciatively whenever he passed through the car, which was often.

HILDA was utterly unconscious of the admiration she aroused. She sat quietly looking out the window mile after mile, seeing little and thinking much. She was fully awake and alive to possibilities now. She realized what she had done, and in what danger she was. She had thought to get off the train at its next stop, but the train hadn't stopped yet, except at a forlorn little shanty much like the station at Platt's Crossing. If she got off there she would only have to take another train to get away from there, for there wasn't a vehicle or trolley in sight, and she couldn't walk far across country with a heavy suitcase. Besides, time was valuable. If her information was valuable to the Government, it certainly was necessary to get it into their hands as soon as possible. She sat with unseeing eyes upon the passing landscape, trying to make herself realize that she was a thief running away from the law, but somehow she could not make it seem real. All the same, being a city-bred girl and knowing the swift ways of modern justice, she knew that Schwarz would probably pursue her with every means at his command, especially if he discovered the loss of his precious suitcase before her own passed out of his keeping. Her only hope was that the note she had left would throw him off her trail and make him think she had gone to Chicago. It. was entirely possible, of course, that in his haste he should not notice the difference in the suitcase. However, she must take no chances now that were avoidable. She must not be caught and dragged back to the farm, or, worse still, put in jail, before she was able to tell what she knew to the President or someone in authority.

She canvassed the possibility of confiding in the conductor and putting herself under his protection until she should reach Washington, but after studying his face a little while she decided against it. He was kind, but he might not know how to hold his tongue, and it was better to keep her knowledge to herself until she could tell the right person. If only Dan Stevens were engineer on this train, how easy everything would be! She could send him a note and he would give orders to have her looked after until she was safe. But he was not engineer, and she decided it was best not to take too many into her counsel.

She had no idea where she was going, beyond a vague notion that the train was moving east. The precious pass had protected her from any questions as to her destination. If Schwarz should telegraph to the conductor of the train he would be bound, perhaps, to give her up. It was just as well he should know nothing. She must plan to evade him somehow.

The train was stopping often now at small villages, and she began to wonder if she ought to get off and strike across the country to another railroad or in search of a trolley. Then the fear of delay caused her to sit still a little longer. She could see more houses in the distance, a lot of them, and smokestacks; perhaps they were nearing a city. It would be so much easier to hide in a big city! If she only knew where she was! The names at the little stations along the way told her nothing as to her whereabouts, because they were all little unknown places not on the map. But this seemed like a big town, with rows of roofs, and red brick walls, and houses huddled in rank and file. Should she get out? She would wait till the name of the place appeared, and perhaps that would help her. Just then the attentive brakeman flung open the door near her and sang out: “West Philadelphia! All out for West Philadelphia! Next stop Broad Street Station!”

Hilda settled back in her seat again. Here was something to go on. She knew where Philadelphia was, of course. It was down at the southeastern corner of Pennsylvania, one of the big cities of the United States. In her mind she could see it on the map now, and Washington was only a few inches below it. She was on the right track. But West Philadelphia would likely be a small station on the outskirts of the city somewhere. She would go into the big station and perhaps buy a hat and coat before going to Washington. It would be dreadful to go to see the President looking as she did!

She sat quietly watching the people about her, those outside on the platform standing in the murk and gloom of the tunnel, the people crowding in and looking in vain for empty seats. She almost forgot to fear that a policeman might be in the crowd, till she sighted a big man with brass buttons just outside her window. Ire was not looking at her, but she shrank back with .frightened heart and was glad when the brakeman slammed the platform down and shut the doors, and the train moved on again, out of the tunnel into a great city, between high buildings, towers and domes. A thrill passed through her at the thought that she was seeing another big strange city. What a thing to tell her mother when all this dreadful business was over and she was free to go and search for her! Then her thoughts were suddenly jerked back to the present as the man in the seat ahead of her leaned over and stopped the passing conductor.

“Are we much behind time?” he asked anxiously. He held his watch in one hand and an open time-table in the other.

“Only ten minutes now,” responded the conductor. “We lost forty minutes, but we made up thirty.”

“What chance do I stand catching the Washington Express?”

“You ought to have got off at West Philadelphia!” scolded the conductor, as if the man was' to blame for not knowing better.

The passenger sprang to his feet and looked back as if he might repair the wrong: “I've got to make that train to Washington!” he cried.

“Too late now,” said the conductor, pushing him back in his seat. “Sit still. I guess you stand a pretty good chance of making it if we don't get halted on the track before we get in. She lays on the next track just across from where we usually come in. She's mostly there every day when we get there, pulls out just a minute or two after. You just be ready the minute we stop and hustle across the platform. Yes, over on this side. You can't miss it. It's only a step. You'll see the Pullman cars. Don't wait to go up to the station. Just beat it right across.”

The man thanked him and got his belongings together, anxiously watching; out the window for the first sign of pulling into the station.

Hilda's resolve was taken. She would follow that man to the Washington train. She would be all ready to move the instant the train stopped.. And the man wouldn't know it; nor would the conductor. She would just slip out as if she knew the way perfectly well. She had her pass, and in case it shouldn't happen to be good on the Washington train, she had money enough in that big roll, surely to carry her to Washington. She needn't wait for a ticket. She could pay on the train.

The man bustled his hand luggage back to the door to be ready the minute the train stopped. The conductor came along, lifted the platform, opened the door, and the man stepped down to the lower step as the train slowed into the big car shed at Broad Street Station. Hilda watched furtively, but would not move till the train came to a halt, and then she was at the steps as the man swung off. He started on a run up the platform to where a train was just puffing up preparatory to starting. She tripped down the steps lightly, dodged behind a baggage truck and was off after the man.

“Is this the Washington train?” she heard the man ask as the conductor leaned down from the platform, his hand up to the signal cord.

The conductor nodded, the man sprang aboard, and Hilda after him just as the wheels began to move. She had to catch at the hand-rail to keep from falling back. The conductor had gone in the ear without seeing her. As she followed the man into the car she caught a glimpse of the attentive brakeman gazing anxiously clown the platform with a disappointed expression, but she did not know that he was looking for her. Up at the station gates a stout man with a red face and blonde hair was studying each passenger who came through with keen, anxious gaze, and a German woman with a little shawl around her shoulders questioned the conductor as he came up to the gate about a girl who had got on at Platt's Crossing with a suitcase. The conductor told her the girl had been on the train. The brakeman asserted that he was sure of that; she better look in the waiting-room. He tried to get the woman's she would be brought into the notice of those about her. If Schwarz had sent word to the police, there was no telling but someone was around watching her. It would be better to sit right still and wait. There wasn't the least likelihood of her starving in one day, and she certainly had nerve enough to sit up and bear a little discomfort for the good of her country. It wouldn't be half as bad as going to war, and having to live in wet, muddy trenches; eat anything you could get; fight, and get wounded; or die alone.

She drew a little sigh and straightened up, trying to fix her attention on the people around her and keep herself awake. It seemed hours she had been on that train. How far was Washington? Would they never get there? The man she had followed into the train had faded away into a parlor car. He was doubtless Clrell now regaling himself with a good dinner. Well, she would play she was sitting opposite to him ordering what she liked and he was telling her all about the sights along the way.. Wouldn't it be nice if she had people to go with her to places, and talk to her, and laugh with her! Ah! Well, she would play it again, and maybe some day it would come true. She thought of the young engineer. What if he had been the man and had taken her into the diner and ordered roast beef and ice-cream! All I station another man in citizen's clothing watched the trains awhile and then went into a telephone booth to report his failure at Platt's Crossing and get more particular directions. Meantime, Hilda sat in the little end seat of the Washington train and sped on her way without hindrance, thankful that so far no one had molested her.

The afternoon dragged on and the car was hot and crowded. A large woman in a satin gown sat down on the end of Hilda's seat and crowded her close against the wall. There was no window by that little end seat, and the place was dark and close. It was many hours since the voices under her window, before daylight, had roused her to the world, and she had come a long, hard way. Her lashes drooped over her pale cheeks, her head and her back ached terribly, and she felt a great gone-ness in the region of her stomach. She had eaten no breakfast, and the few mouthfuls of coffee she had taken had long ago lost their effect. She longed to lie down and cry, she was so miserable and hot and faint, but she dared not even put her head back and close her eyes lest she should fall asleep, because of the precious suitcase which she must guard every instant. There must be no rest for her until she put the -burden of responsibility into the right hands.

A colored man in a white linen coat with a pad and pencil in his hand passed through the car and drawled: “Last call for dinner in the dining-car,” and she longed to follow him and get something to eat. She had money, why should she not? Then a swift glance at the large satin person beside her dozing ponderously, decided her against it. She would have a time struggling over those great satin knees, and maybe her suitcase would be seen, and she would be brought into the notice of those about her. If Schwarz had sent word to the police, there was no telling but someone was around watching her. It would be better to sit right still and wait. There wasn't the least likelihood of her starving in one day, and she certainly had nerve enough to sit up and bear a little discomfort for the good of her country. It wouldn't be half as bad as going to war, and having to live in wet, muddy trenches; eat anything you could get; fight, and get wounded; or die alone.

She drew a little sigh and straightened up, trying to fix her attention on the people around her and keep herself awake. It seemed hours she had been on that train. How far was Washington? Would they never get there? The man she had followed into the train had faded away into a parlor car. He was doubtless even now regaling himself with a good dinner. Well, she would play she was sitting opposite to him ordering what she liked and he was telling her all about the sights along the way. Wouldn't it be nice if she had people to go with her to places, and talk to her, and laugh with her! Ah! Well, she would play it again, and maybe some day it would come true.

She thought of the young engineer. What if he had been the man and had taken her into the diner and ordered roast beef and ice-cream! Ah! Her head reeled at the thought of the food, and she sat up very straight and called herself to order. She simply must not faint or get sick or anything to attract attention. She wondered what the engineer would think when he found she was gone. But, of course, he wouldn't find out now until she got somewhere and wrote him or telephoned to him. She had left the little red scarf hanging out of the window. It had been her last act in the morning before she went down to get break fast. Had he seen it to-day when his train went by and would he try to find out what it meant? She had. hung it there because the thought had come to her that perhaps in some terrible way she might he shut up or made away with before she could get the knowledge of the spies to the proper authorities, and she had a vague feeling that if Dan Stevens knew there was something to be alarmed about he would ferret it out in some way.

The three hours passed at last, and just as the sinking sun was sending long, opalescent lights into the sky, a city dawned on the windows of one side of the car, with a. great white shaft rising like an angel out of the sky, and a big white dome a little farther on. There was something about the sight that reminded Hilda of the pictures of the Heavenly City in Pilgrim's Progress, and she caught her breath and sat up very straight. This was Washington. She knew without being told. She had seen pictures, and, anyway, if she hadn't she felt she would have known. I twas different from any other place she had ever seen.