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 carriage door opened and in jumped Meeds.

'We'll be off in about half an hour. We need to get ourselves positioned and ready to tag along a behind a commuter train. I'll just make sure everything is ship shape and Bristol fashion.'

I briefly pondered pulling Meeds' leg, and asked how he thought that our being on a train – that was a considerable distance from the River Avon – could ever mean that we were ship shape and Bristol fashion. Meeds just glared at me and made his way past us and along to the adjoining carriage. He paused.

'Please be aware, Commander, that once we are on our way the internal lights will be killed. It wouldn't do to have a light showing as we speed along such busy platforms.'

I nodded in agreement and raised my tea cup in a salute; Stanley promptly refilled it.

'Do you think he's really securing things down, or just checking his 'girls' for damage?' I enquired not really expecting an answer.

'I really couldn't say sir.'

There was some hustle and bustle going on outside still. I craned my neck to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening beyond the draped camouflage, but try as I might; there was nothing for me to see.

I settled back in my chair, the covered windows making for a very soporific atmosphere.

'I expect that they are greasing the carriage wheels to keep the noise down, the same as the engine?'

'Quite so, quite so,' was Stanley's reply, which killed all further attempts at conversation quite dead.

I must have dozed off at this point, for the next thing I knew was a slight jolt. I surmised that we were off. I went to check my pocket watch, and then realised that this was not possible due to the total absence of light. Instead, I looked in the general direction of the windows and hoped that my eyes would soon become accustomed to the surrounding darkness.

It was rather a strange sensation. Not being able to look out of the windows, I had no external reference points and therefore no real sense of movement. There still was the dull clicking of wheels on rails (especially as we went over intersections), but that was the only noise that could be associated with motion. With my senses now gradually becoming accustomed to my strange surroundings, I felt the carriage slow down ever so slightly and then speed up again. I imagined that this was because we were going though an underground station and tiny pinpricks of light seemed to back this up.

I smiled to myself, wondering if any of the folk sitting or standing on the platform noticed anything as we shot passed. Surely there must be an additional gust of wind that couldn't be explained? I decided on a piece of puerile devilment to pass the time in my darkened solitary confinement. When we were on the next slow–down (and presumably in a station), I faced the window and poked out my tongue and waggled my ears in a ribald gesture.

'Chief Meeds doesn't approve of such behavior, sir,' Came a disjointed voice from somewhere behind me.

I do not mind admitting that I was close to disbursing myself directly in my trousers. I tried not to jump and hoped that it had not been noticed. I recomposed myself and peered in the general direction of the voice.

'I assume that is you, Stanley?'

'Oh yes, sir. I've been here all the time. I quite like just sitting and listening in the dark. And I've got exceptional night vision, or so says Mr Hobbes.'

I got the feeling that Stanley had just been sitting there and studying me. And why not, indeed? There was bugger–all else to do, and I'm a remarkable chap (even if I do say so myself).

'Don't you worry though sir, I won't let on about your tomfoolery at the window?'

When Stanley spoke to me, tiny shafts of light reflected from his eyes and teeth. I decided that it would be better if I did not pursue the conversation any further, and I was rather glad that we would have lights once we'd got to the outskirts of London; I would not have enjoyed a total blackout all the way to Scotland.

We were soon in total darkness again, and then a few minutes later, more light flashed past. Alas, I am unfamiliar with the lines running that way out of London in the direction of Camden; otherwise I may have had a better idea of where we were. And then the light level changed once again, but this time it was of a different hue, natural rather than man–made. We were above ground, which meant we were very close to our rendezvous site. The internal lights came back on as if by magic, the result of some kind of light–sensitive apparatus, no doubt. But then I noticed Stanley standing by the light switch. So much for the modern age of automation.

'Are we all right to do that, do you think?' I asked Stanley.

'Oh, I think so, sir. The Chief didn't say not to, did he?'

'Um.... No, quite so. Besides, we can always say it's part of his field test.'

The train seemed to have slowed down to an almost walking pace, and I could hear people outside. Then, with an almost theatrical flourish, the camouflage drapes were suddenly lifted from the windows. A dull grey view presented itself – not the best view of London, by any means – and looking up at the sky it seemed as though the heavens were about to open once more. The floor shuddered as we came to a complete stop. I stood up and stretched myself, both physically and mentally. To achieve the latter, I performed some simple arithmetic in Mandarin. Oh, those months in China had certainly had their benefits, on both diplomatic and personal levels.

'Stanley, I feel that I have spent long enough inside and shall now venture forth. Would you like to accompany me?'

'Is that an order, Sir?' he asked, rather nervously.

'No. Would you like it to be?'

'I think, Commander Knolly, Sir, that it would make life easier. If you know what I mean?'

I understood perfectly well. I could not let this young lad suffer a bawling out from the Chief. Instead, he got a mock–bawling from me as I ordered him outside, mimicking as best I could the badgering tones of Petty Officers the world over.

'Right then! You there! Step lively.... Outside on the double!'

So it was we found ourselves outside, and in what seemed to be a disused rail siding and up ahead, I could see a signal box. In the fading daylight, the engine sat looking menacing, huffing and puffing quietly to itself. A figure hopped down from the footplate and walked towards us. It was Meeds, and he looked none too pleased.

'I thought I told you to stay inside!' he barked to Stanley.

'Stanley was under my orders, Chief.' I replied.

Meeds just grunted and pointed in the direction of the signal box.

'An Express has to pass though here, so you'll need to change the up–line signal to get it to stop while we couple the 'girls'. One should be coming though in the next couple of hours, so we can check what line it will be on. Shouldn't be too much of a problem.' he said with a wry smile as looked at his fob watch.

'There's more than one line, then?' I asked in all innocence.

Meeds took me roughly by the elbow and pulled me between the carriages.

'Slightly more than one, you could say!' he said, pointing ahead.

'Good Lord!'

Before us lay the lines of track that made up the routes to the terminus that was Euston. It was a quite incredible sight – and a sight that could not really be done justice at ground level. The rails appeared like some bizarre knitting exercise in iron and steel. Stopping the train would not be as easy as I had first imagined after all, hence Meeds' irony.

There was a shrill blast from the whistle of the Ghost Train.

'Bloody hell!' cursed Meeds under his breath. 'Now what??'

He marched in his determined and agitated fashion toward the engine. I followed on a little way behind, still in awe of the majesty of such rail construction, still nervous at what Meeds might do when he got there.

The whistle blew again, followed by an all too familiar laugh. A face looked down at me from the footplate, and from behind that face peered an older and bewhiskered visage.

'Mr Harrison–Harrison!' barked a red-faced Meeds. 'Kindly get off the footplate!'

Bertie pulled his face into what could only be described as an upside down smile and uttered a sheepish 'Sorry'.

'Mr Hobbes,' he called. 'You may stay.' He added in an altogether more cheery manner.

We three exchanged hullo's and I looked to Bertie.

'I rather assume that it was you who blew the whistle?' I asked.

He shrugged.

'Boyhood dream Knolly – riding on the footplate of a steam engine. If only it could be the Express itself.'

'Bertie, may I kindly remind you of the Cokley–Clay debacle, and those damnable traction engine land speed records of his.'

Bertie was about to say something in his defence, but thought better of it. He and climbed down along with Hobbes.

I clasped Bertie to me (in most manly way, you understand).

'It's damn good to see you!' I said. 'You have everything, I trust?'

'Oh yes. Including a rather large amount of luggage that Elspeth sent round before we set off. Seems rather a lot of clothes. I .... err.... had a peek.'

'I smiled outwardly, but grimaced internally. What was Elspeth up to? I turned to Hobbes who was shuffling his feet trying to be inconspicuous amidst the friendly back slapping.

I shook Hobbes warmly by the hand:

'Good to see you too, Halogen. I trust the diary investigations are not proving too dull?'

'Indeed not – quite the opposite. But we have plenty of time to discuss that. Let us show you your automobile.'

Parked a little way from the train was a large horse–drawn wagon on which lay a mass that was covered by tarpaulin. Bertie rushed ahead and leapt on to the wagon itself, earning a look of scorn from both the horse and the driver. He pulled of the tarp with mighty;

'Ta-Dahhhhh!!'

I was struck dumb by what I saw. After a few moments, I recovered enough to turn to my colleagues and to utter in a most weak manner:

'So this is my Talbot, is it?...'

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