Yet most distressing was its unpredictability. The intruder turned up everywhere, suddenly appearing from some railway line to fly by with a devilish roar along the tracks before disappearing in the distance. One day it had been seen near the station at M.; the following day it appeared in an open field beyond the town of W.; a couple of days later it flew by with petrifying impudence near a lineman’s booth in the district of G.

At first it was thought that the insane train belonged to an existing line and that only tardiness, or a mistake by the officials concerned, had failed to ascertain its identity. Therefore, inquiries began, endless signalling and communications between stations—all to no avail: the intruder simply sneered at the endeavours of the officials, usually appearing where it was least expected.

Particularly disheartening was the circumstance that nowhere could one catch, overtake, or stop it. Several planned pursuits to this end on one of the most technologically advanced engines created a horrible fiasco: the terrible train immediately took the lead.

Then the railway personnel began to be seized by a superstitious fear and a stifled rage. An unheard of thing! For quite a few years the coaches and cars had run according to an established plan that had been worked out at headquarters and approved by government officials—for years everything had been calculated, more or less foreseen, and when some ‘mistake’ or ‘oversight’ occurred, it could be logically explained and corrected. Then suddenly an uninvited guest slips onto the tracks, spoiling the order of things, turning regulations upside down, and bringing confusion and disarray to a well-regulated organization!

Thank goodness the interloper had not brought about any disaster. This was something that generally puzzled them from the very beginning. The train always appeared on a track that was free at the time; so far the crazy train had not caused a collision. Yet one could occur any day. Indeed, that was where things seemed to be heading. With mounting dread, a tendency in its movements was discovered which indicated that the train was entering into closer contact with its normal comrades. Though initially it seemed to steer clear of such close contact, appearing considerable distances beyond or before other trains, these days it sprang up at the backs of its predecessors after the passage of ever-shorter intervals of time. Already it had shot by an express on its way to O.; a week ago it barely avoided a passenger train between S. and F.; the other day only by a miracle did it not crash into the express from W.

Stationmasters trembled at the news of these near misses. Only double tracks and the quick judgment of engine drivers had prevented a collision. These amazing escapes had recently begun to occur with more frequency, so that the chances of a happy way out of a collision seemed to diminish daily.

From its role as the hunted, the intruder went into an active, magnetic-like impulse towards what was running smoothly and was generally understood. The insane train began directly to menace the old order of things. The affair could end tragically any day now.

For a month the stationmaster at Horsk had been leading an unpleasant existence. In constant anxiety over an unexpected visit of the mysterious train, he was almost continually vigilant, not deserting day or night the signal-box that had been entrusted to him nearly a year ago as a token of recognition for ‘his energy and uncommon efficiency’. And the post was important, for at the Horsk station several principal railway lines intersected and the traffic of the entire country was concentrated.

Today, faced with a greatly increased number of passengers, his work was particularly difficult.

Evening was slowly falling. Electric lights flashed up, reflectors threw off their powerful projections.