The Convivial Codfish by Charlotte MacLeod Read Free Book Online Page B

about dead bodies. Wouter’s was that, no doubt about it.
    He might have died as a result of that sudden jolting stop, if he’d got thrown back against the iron plates of the cab wall. But he hadn’t. There was no wound on the back of his head, no bleeding from the mouth or nostrils. What this looked like was one of those wartime movies where the commando climbs into the locomotive, gives the engineer a quick chop across the hyoid bone with the heel of his hand, and takes over the train. Max’s previous experience hadn’t ran to hyoid bones, but it did look to him as if Wouter Tolbathy’s Adam’s apple had an awfully ominous dent in it.
    He thought he wouldn’t say so just yet to Tom Tolbathy. The brother was having all he could do to function rationally as it was. Tom looked like death himself when he pulled his head back into the cab.
    “We’re right at the far end of the loop, about two miles from the house.”
    “Is there any place near here where we could make a phone call?”
    “No, it’s all conservation land. I’ll have to take her back to the station. That’s the closest phone. Let’s hope to God she still runs.”
    As Tom turned to the instrument panel, he stumbled over his dead brother’s body. Max thought he was going to faint.
    “We’ve got to get Wouter out of here. Take his feet, will you, Max? We’ll stretch him out in the tender and cover him with a tablecloth till—”
    “I don’t think we ought to move him, Tom,” Max had to answer.
    “For God’s sake, why not? I can’t stand to leave him like this. It isn’t decent. Oh, Christ, how did this have to happen?”
    “It looks to me as if we’ll have to take that question up with the police.”
    “What do you mean? Why should a heart attack have anything to do with them?”
    “You always call the police in a case like this. Besides, I’m afraid it wasn’t a heart attack. His windpipe’s been smashed.”
    “His windpipe? You mean—but how could that happen? Unless he got dizzy or something and slammed on the brakes too fast and the jolt—”
    “The jolt could have killed him, I’ll grant you that. I’d much rather believe it had, if only he’d got a cut on his forehead, or a bloody nose, or even a black eye. But I’m damned if I can see anything in this cab that could have dealt him a clean swipe across the throat and not left him with so much as a scratch on his chin. It’s far more likely, in my opinion, that he was dead before the train stopped, and I’m afraid we’re going to get into even worse trouble than we are now if we move the body before the police get a chance to see it.”
    Tolbathy looked at Bittersohn for a moment without speaking. Then he nodded, leaned over his dead brother’s body in an awkward stoop, and reached for the starting lever.
    “Wouter?” Somebody was trying to get into the cab. “Wouter, are you there?”
    “I’m here,” said Tom. “What is it, Quent?”
    The door opened and a head appeared. “Hester sent me to find out what’s happening. Some of the passengers got shaken up, and she thinks old Wripp may have broken something. What shall I tell her?”
    “Tell her Wouter’s had a—an accident, and we’re going back to the house to call a doctor.”
    “What happened to you, Wouter?” This was the man in the thick glasses who’d thought back on the bus that Max was his madrigal-singing acquaintance Ernest. Max glanced at Tolbathy for a cue.
    “Let him alone, Quent,” Tom obliged him by saying. “He’s still stunned. I believe he saw a deer on the track, braked too abruptly, and banged his head. We’ve had problems with them this year. I only hope the engine isn’t damaged. Make sure nobody else comes in here, will you? I—want Wouter to get some rest.”
    Durward said, “Of course,” and disappeared. Tolbathy threw the starting switch. The engine came alive instantly. They moved along the track for twenty feet or so, then slowed down and came to a full