Dismissal from his job was the very least that he expected. The worst of it was that his wife would be at home, wondering where he was and why he had not returned at the end of his shift. She would grow increasingly worried about her husband. He feared that Molly might in due course come to the station in search of him and thereby witness his disgrace.

'When can I go home?' he asked tentatively.

'Not until the detectives arrive from Scotland Yard,' said Douglas Fagge with a meaningful tap on the nose. 'They'll need to speak to you. We can't have you disappearing.'

'I'd only be gone ten minutes, Mr Fagge.'

'How do we know that you'd come back?'

'Because I'd give you my word.'

'And I know you'd keep it,' said Percy Reade, the stationmaster, adopting a gentler tone. 'I trust you implicitly, Reg, but I still think it better that you stay here until they arrive.'

Hibbert quivered. 'Am I in trouble, Mr Reade?'

'Yes!' affirmed Fagge, folding his arms.

'No,' countered the stationmaster. 'Accidents will happen.'

'Especially when Hibbert is around.'

'You're too harsh on him, Douglas.'

'And you're too lenient.'

Percy Reade was a mild-mannered little man in his forties with a huge walrus moustache concealing much of his face. Conscientious and highly efficient, he treated the staff with a paternal care in the belief that it was the way to get the best out of them. Fagge, on the other hand, favoured a more tyrannical approach. Left to him, flogging would have been meted out to anyone who failed to do his job properly and Fagge would happily have wielded the cat o' nine tails himself. Hibbert was relieved that the stationmaster was there. His kindly presence was an antidote to the venom of the head porter.

The distant sound of an approaching train made all three men turn their heads to the window.