At Crag View there was, at that time, a high wooden trestle stilted up on spliced spruce piles with the bark on.

It used to creak and crack under the engine when it was new.  McNally was nearing it now.  It lay, however, just below a deep rock cut that had been made in a mountain crag and beyond a sharp curve.

McNally leaned from his cab window, and when the lightning flashed, saw that the cut was clear of rock and released the brakes slightly to allow the long train to slip through the reverse curve at the bridge.  Curves cramp a train, and a smooth runner likes to feel them glide smoothly.

As the black locomotive poked her nose through the cut, the engineer leaned out again; but the after-effect of the flash of lightning left the world in inky blackness.

Back in a darkened corner of the drawing-room of the rearmost sleeper the sleuth snored with both eyes and ears open.

Suddenly he saw a man, fully dressed, leap from a lower berth in the last section and make a grab for the bell-rope.  The man missed the rope; and before he could leap again the detective landed on the back of his neck, bearing him down.  At that moment the conductor came through; and when he saw the detective pull a pair of bracelets from his hip-pocket, he guessed that the man underneath must be wanted, and joined in the scuffle.  In a moment the man was handcuffed, for he really offered no resistance.  As they released him he rose, and they squashed him into a seat opposite the section from which he had leaped a moment before.  The man looked not at his captors, who still held him, but pressed his face against the window.  He saw the posts of the snow-shed passing, sprang up, flung the two men from him as a Newfoundland would free himself from a couple of kittens, lifted his manacled hands, leaped toward the ceiling, and bore down on the signal-rope.

The conductor, in the excitement, yelled at the man, bringing the rear brakeman from the smoking-room, followed by the black boy bearing a shoe-brush.

Once more they bore the bad man down, and then the conductor grabbed the rope and signalled the engineer ahead.

Men leaped from their berths, and women showed white faces between the closely drawn curtains.

Once more the conductor pulled the bell, but the train stood still.

One of the passengers picked up the man’s hand-grip that had fallen from his berth, and found that the card held in the leather tag read: 

  “JOHN BRADISH.”

“Go forward,” shouted the conductor to the rear brakeman, “and get ’em out of here,—­tell McNally we’ve got the ghost.”

The detective released his hold on his captive, and the man sank limp in the corner seat.

The company’s surgeon, who happened to be on the car, came over and examined the prisoner.  The man had collapsed completely.

When the doctor had revived the handcuffed passenger and got him to sit up and speak, the porter, wild-eyed, burst in and shouted:  “De bridge is gone.”