Once again we are beholden to the current executors of the Knolly estate for letting us publish this, the second package of the great man's journals and memoirs.

The noise outside was getting louder and louder rising to a roar. I could feel the air pressure began to change as something big pushed its way along the connecting underground tunnels and into the wider workspace and rail-yard where we sat. My head began to hurt in the same way that I had noticed prior to a big thunderstorm. Bertie always said that, perhaps, I had some kind of allergy to rain clouds. Hobbes provided a more scientific explanation, stating that my ague was, perhaps, prompted by the build-up of atmospheric phlogiston (so characteristic a precedent of a storm) that caused extra pressure on the temples. I just knew that it hurt.

I rushed across to the windows to see if I could fathom out what was approaching. It was no normal tank engine of that I was sure, but I was not afforded a decent view. I looked over to Stanley who was busying himself with chasing the miscreant halfpennies that had escaped from the board and onto the table and then on to the floor.

'You know what it is then?' I asked.

Stanley looked up briefly from his task at hand.

'Yessir...'

'But, you've been ordered not to tell me though. Correct?'

'Um...'

'Well, Stanley. As much as I have enjoyed your company for the last few hours I fear I that need a change of scenery and air.'

I grabbed my coat and reached for the door handle which, all of a sudden, was not where it should have been. The door had been opened from the outside and there stood a very happy looking Chief Meeds.

'Commander Knolly, Sir!' he shouted over the continuing oncoming noise.

'I thought that you might be wanting to see what would be pulling you and my girls on your first leg of your journey.'

I winced at the pounding in my head as I looked past Meeds to see what sort of locomotive was approaching. His engineering crew had also rushed forward to the tunnel opening too, so there was little chance of me being spotted as I emerged from my self inflicted confinement. However, Meeds offered me a rating's hat and jacket to help me blend into his world rather that stick out like a sore thumb in my current attire.

Peering into the gloom, I could hardly make out any shape and the only way I could tell it was nearly upon us was the sound of steam and the odd spark that was escaping from where the firebox should have been. Even the wheels on the track were quiet.

And then it was upon us, a huge monstrosity that looked like no steam engine I had ever seen upon the railways. It had no discernible shape, for it seemed that from front to back it was covered in what looked like swathes of material which hung down almost to the very rails!

I gawped. Meeds smiled in amusement at my bafflement.

'We call it The Ghost Train,' chuckled Meeds.

'It's an experiment, following up on the work carried out by the lads out in South Africa. They called their version 'Hairy Mary'. That was an armoured engine covered in a carpets of rope for extra protection. This one is armoured too, but doesn't require the extra protection that coils of rope would offer. Navy like to keep it hidden, though.'

I nodded. I had, of course, heard of such armoured leviathans being built and manned by the Navy in our continuing effort against the Boers, but had never thought to see one in England.

'So what is she used for, then?'

'Oh, she's used for church fetes and suchlike,' said Meeds nonchalantly.

'Really?' I asked.

'No, not really. It's used for moving heavy stuff around from naval dockyard to naval dockyard.'

'... And it needs to be armoured and hidden because...?'

'The armour is a mistake. The Navy got rather confused during the procurement of one or two ships, and it was ...well, ...left over you might say.'

'... And the elaborate camouflage?'

'Well, we wouldn't want the public to see it would we? With something like this booming up–and–down, they might think something's afoot and panic would set in. Oh, and it allows us to move around on every piece of track within the land at almost any time of day too. Even through London!'

I thought about this and, whilst I shuddered at the thought of yet something else being kept hidden away from the British public, I had to applaud the ingenuity and the thinking behind it. I watched it slowly move itself onto the turntable, Meeds' crew walking slowly and beside it, modern David next to a mechanical Goliath. It was impressive to say the least.

'How does such a machine move with so little noise?' I asked.

'Lots and lots of grease. The covering camouflage also deadens a lot of the sound. Of course, when she's moving around on the underground, she runs as close to existing trains as possible so that she's hardly noticed amongst the general racket.'

I thought about this. It did not seem right.

'But surely someone must have noticed the additional rushing of wind? Or someone must have stolen a glimpse?'

'It is quite possible, but, imagine the reception that you would get if you were to claim that you had seen something big and black chasing after a train on the Bakerloo line. No .... Mr and Mrs Londoner would rather admit to not seeing such a thing, don't you think?

I had to admit that Meeds – and whoever had commissioned the Ghost Train, were correct in the way the human mind works. Such things were always somebody else's problem.

Now then, Commander. If you don't mind, I think it's high time that we got you back on board before any of my lads start wondering who I'm talking to.'

I pulled out my pocket watch, it read a little after three.

'Will our chaps be travelling with me on 'The Train’?'

Meeds shook his head.

'Unfortunately not. The ones helping out with the field test have already left to make their way to a boarding house we use nearby, so it will be just yourself and Stanley. I will be riding the footplate. If you please, Sir, go and make yourself comfortable. I hope to move out in the next hour or so.'

As I climbed back aboard, I realised that I had quite forgotten to berate Meeds about the lack of hot water that morning. I considered the prospect of a cold shave tomorrow morning, and then pondered the chances that the problematic plumbing would be rectified by some clever on–site fellows.

Stanley appeared with teapot in hand.

'Three o'clock. Time for tea sir?'

'Splendid thought that man!'

And then I had an idea. I did not have to actually ingest tea for it to have an energising effect. The merest thought of the splendid drink was enough!

'Tell me, Stanley,' I said.

'Have you ever thought about what you would like to do when your time in the Service comes to an end?'

Stanley stopped mid pour.

Ohhhhh..... I can't really say that I've given it much thought, sir. Although... I have an Uncle who runs a Public House and I have oft thought of that as quite a jolly occupation.'

'Never considered the idea of being a gentleman's gentleman then?'

Stanley looked at me, but his answer was lost as the Ghost Train let go its whistle. It may be a near invisible train, but there was no hiding that sound!

'Ah! Best sit tight, sir. They are about to couple us up. Chief warned me it might be a bit rough as the crew is not used to passenger carriages.'

The Chief was not wrong and I was very glad that I was sitting. Had I had the misfortune to be standing, I feel that I would have landed back in the bedroom area.

There was a yell from outside. It was a voice that I knew very well – Chief Meeds. He was not at all amused at the way his girls had been abused so roughly.

The lights in the carriage flickered and then the windows went black. Stanley – now sitting opposite – caught my nervous glance.

'They are covering us with the same cloth as the engine, sir. So that we blend in.'

I nodded. Of course! How else would we be able to slip along behind a normal rush hour underground train?

I had always enjoyed train rides, and this was going to be a little bit special. I felt my stiff upper lip begin to relax a little and allowed a small grin. I admitted to myself – it was all getting quite exciting!...

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