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- Herausgeber: Mount Street Press
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
The Man on the Train is a prequel to the Angela Marchmont mysteries and can be read without fear of spoilers!
October 1925: On finding herself stuck in a small town in Illinois following floods on the railway line, Angela Marchmont falls in with a vaudeville company and helps a young man accused of theft prove his innocence.
This is a short story of fourteen thousand words—just right for an afternoon curled up on the sofa!
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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The Man on the Train
An Angela Marchmont Short Story
Clara Benson
Contents
The Man on the Train
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Books by Clara Benson
© 2018 Clara Benson
All rights reserved
The right of Clara Benson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser
clarabenson.com
Cover by Shayne Rutherford at Wicked Good Book Covers
The Man on the Train
October 1925: On finding herself stuck in a small town in Illinois following floods on the railway line, Angela Marchmont falls in with a vaudeville company and helps a young man accused of theft prove his innocence.
This is a short story of fourteen thousand words—just right for an afternoon curled up on the sofa!
If you’d like to receive news of further releases by Clara Benson, you can sign up to my mailing list here.
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Chapter One
Illinois, October 1925
The rain was so heavy it sounded as though someone was hurling stones from the heavens onto the roof of the train as it toiled along the line by the river, seemingly struggling to pick up speed. The water streamed down the windows, turning the view of the autumn foliage along the river banks into an indistinct blur of orange and gold that merged into the dull brown of the angry river below and the chalky grey of the sky above. Alone in the private car, a woman of about thirty-five wearing a smart travelling suit gazed absently out through the glass, a half-written letter lying neglected before her on the polished desk. At length she shook herself and returned her attention to the matter at hand, then made a little sound of impatience as she saw that her pen had leaked a blot of ink onto the paper. With a sigh she screwed up the spoilt missive, took out another sheet from her writing-case and began again.
The train slowed almost to a crawl as it entered a tunnel, and the drumming of the rain stopped instantly as though turned off by a switch, leaving behind it a silence that was almost deafening until the rhythmic sound of the engine once more intruded itself. It was quiet enough to allow other sounds to be distinguished, and the woman glanced up from her work curiously as a door clicked nearby, indicating that someone had entered the car. She saw no-one, and after a moment returned to her letter, a slight frown upon her face.
At last the train emerged from the tunnel and drew to a ponderous halt, as though it had finally given up all thoughts of moving forward. Ten, fifteen minutes passed with no further progress, and after a while the woman stood up and went to look out through the window at the other side of the car. Here the trees were thinner, and she could see that a road ran parallel to the track, perhaps ten yards away. As she watched, she saw two police cars approach at speed and stop. Several men emerged, pulling their collars up against the driving rain, and walked towards the train. The woman was regarding the scene with interest when the Pullman conductor came in and informed her with many apologies that there was some hold-up on the track a way ahead, which had forced the train to stop.
‘Is that why the police are here?’ she said.
‘The police?’ he replied in surprise. ‘What the—?’ She pointed through the window and he turned and saw the car. ‘Well, now! If that ain’t—excuse me, ma’am.’
