John Heddle was a short, skinny, animated man in his twenties. He had a mobile face that featured a bulbous nose, a failed attempt at a moustache, a lantern jaw and a permanent gap-toothed grin. Having worked with the fireman before, Pike was fond of him though troubled by Heddle's impulsiveness and lust for speed. They would be glaring defects in the character of a driver. Pike had impressed that fact upon him a number of times.

After a final check of his instruments, Pike awaited the signal to leave. It was Friday evening and the train was filled with people who either lived in Brighton or wished to spend the weekend there. One of the passengers, a clergyman, suddenly materialised beside them.

'Good evening to both of you,' he said, amiably. 'Do excuse me. I've just come to bless the engine.'

'Bless it?' said Heddle with a laugh. 'It's the first time I've heard of anyone doing that, sir. What about you, Frank?'

'It's been sworn at before now,' said Pike, 'but never blessed.'

'Then you can't have driven the Brighton Express,' decided the newcomer, 'because I travel on it regularly and always bestow a blessing on the engine before departure.'

He closed his eyes and began to offer up a silent prayer. Driver and fireman exchanged a glance. Pike was mystified but Heddle was highly amused. The clergyman on the platform was a diminutive figure of middle years, jaunty, dapper and good-humoured. He had long, wavy, greying hair and a goatee beard. Even in repose he seemed to be bristling with energy. Pike was afraid that the blessing would go on too long but the clergyman knew exactly how much time he had at his disposal. Opening his eyes, he gave them a broad smile of gratitude then stepped smartly into a first class carriage near the front of the train. Thirty seconds later they were in motion.

'There you are,' said Heddle, nudging the driver. 'You've got the Church's blessing now, Frank. You can go hell for leather.'