The train continued its erratic progress, sometimes stopping altogether for a time, with whistle blowing repeatedly; sometimes creeping along the metals as though feeling its way to safety.

At last, after a somewhat prolonged wait, the guard, whose hoarse voice they had heard on the platform of the small station in which they were standing, entered the carriage.
With him came a gust of wind, once more sending the papers flying around the compartment.

The rain dripped from his clothes on to the carpet.
He had lost his hat, his hair was tossed with the wind, his face was bleeding from a slight wound on the temple.
"The boat train's just ahead of us, sir," he announced.

"She can't get on any better than we can.

We've just heard that there's a bridge down on the line between Ipswich and Harwich." "What are we going to do, then ?" Mr.Dunster demanded.
"That's just what I've come to ask you, sir," the guard replied.