A Sensation on the Railway

“There’s the fellow that shot the gamekeeper at Badsworth; he was captured early this morning in Denaby wood!”

This was the whisper passed from mouth to mouth on the platform at Mexborough railway station Monday morning, and all eyes were turned towards the pale featured young collier who was handcuffed to the policeman’s wrist.

“His doom is sure!” said one; “Ah! Another job for the hangman!” exclaimed somebody else.

A train for Doncaster then came into the station, and the prisoner was ushered into a smoking compartment. The carriage was speedily filled by passengers curious to still further scan the “murderer!” and if possible to glean something about the arrest.

A reporter heard the rumour just as the train was due, and he managed to bundle into it as the signal was given for “off.”

Yes, it was quite true; the murderer had been taken prisoner, and was in the next carriage! The passengers could talk of nothing else; that circumstance had grossly all of the conversation the journey. That reporters mind was rushing ahead with far greater speed than the train, and never did wheels seem to revolve more slowly.

“Tickets,” shouted the porter at Conisborough, and, as one of the officials got to the carriage where the newspaper representative was seated, he thought he was going to tell the journalists a grand secret.

“They’ve got him!” said the collector, excitedly.

“Suppose so,” was the reporters quite reply.

But he wasn’t so unconcerned as he tried to make it appear. That cushioned seat might have been composed of thorns, so uncomfortably did he wriggle about.

Doncaster was reached last, and out sprang the professional gentlemen. He officiated as porter at the next carriage, not intending to lose any time in gaining the desired information. There was a mutual recognition between the government individual and the private detective.

“Well, old fellow. I congratulate you! If you don’t get the £100 reward you will be made a sergeant.” Thus did the eager scribe address the smiling bobby.

“What do you mean?” Inquired the latter, surprisingly.

“Why, for that capture!” was the reply, the speaker pointing to the prisoner. The prisoner now stared as well as his custodian.

“Not much of a capture,” said the constable laughing. “He’s only Denaby collier that I found drunk at Barmbro’ last night!”

How that journalists felt is best known to himself. I hope he is a total abstainer, I can imagine him “drowning bitter memories in the dram shop.” So this was the cause of all the commotion which had occurred and which had already been retailed throughout the neighbourhood.

“Much ado about nothing!” With a vengeance!