Golden Stories, by Various 
 
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Title: Golden Stories A Selection of the Best Fiction by the Foremost 
Writers 
Author: Various 
Release Date: September 22, 2006 [EBook #19356] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOLDEN 
STORIES *** 
 
Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Melissa Er-Raqabi and 
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net 
 
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: 
Following each author's name was a notice: "All rights reserved." This 
book is currently in the public domain, and the notices have been 
removed, but are mentioned here in the interest of completeness.
Many inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have 
been normalized. Others remain as in the original. Any deviation from 
the author's intent is solely the responsibility of the transcriber. 
This book seems to have been bound in two sections, each with stories 
numbered I-XII. 
 
Golden Stories 
A SELECTION OF THE BEST FICTION BY THE FOREMOST 
WRITERS 
[Illustration] 
NEW YORK THE SHORT STORIES COMPANY 1909 
 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF 
TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING 
THE SCANDINAVIAN 
COPYRIGHT, 1908-1909, BY THE SHORT STORIES COMPANY 
 
I 
THE NIGHT EXPRESS 
The Story of a Bank Robbery 
By FRED M. WHITE 
A PELTING rain volleyed against the great glass dome of the terminus, 
a roaring wind boomed in the roof. Passengers, hurrying along the 
platform, glistened in big coats and tweed caps pulled close over their 
ears. By the platform the night express was drawn up--a glittering mass
of green and gold, shimmering with electric lights, warm, inviting, and 
cozy. 
Most of the corridor carriages and sleeping berths were full, for it was 
early in October still, and the Scotch exodus was not just yet. A few 
late comers were looking anxiously out for the guard. He came 
presently, an alert figure in blue and silver. Really, he was very sorry. 
But the train was unusually crowded, and he was doing the best he 
could. He was perfectly aware of the fact that his questioners 
represented a Cabinet Minister on his way to Balmoral and a prominent 
Lothian baronet, but there are limits even to the power of an express 
guard, on the Grand Coast Railway. 
"Well, what's the matter with this?" the Minister demanded. "Here is an 
ordinary first-class coach that will do very well for us. Now, Catesby, 
unlock one of these doors and turn the lights on." 
"Very sorry, my lord," the guard explained, "but it can't be done. Two 
of the carriages in the coach are quite full, as you see, and the other two 
are reserved. As a matter of fact, my lord, we are taking a body down to 
Lydmouth. Gentleman who is going to be buried there. And the other 
carriage is for the Imperial Bank of Scotland. Cashier going up north 
with specie, you understand." 
It was all plain enough, and disgustingly logical. To intrude upon the 
presence of a body was perfectly impossible; to try and force the hand 
of the bank cashier equally out of the question. As head of a great 
financial house, the Minister knew that. A platform inspector bustled 
along presently, with his hand to his gold-laced cap. 
"Saloon carriage being coupled up behind, my lord," he said. 
The problem was solved. The guard glanced at his watch. It seemed to 
him that both the bank messenger and the undertaker were cutting it 
fine. The coffin came presently on a hand-truck--a black velvet pall lay 
over it, and on the sombre cloth a wreath or two of white lilies. The 
door of the carriage was closed presently, and the blinds drawn 
discreetly close. Following behind this came a barrow in charge of a
couple of platform police. On the barrow were two square deal boxes, 
heavy out of all proportion to their size. These were deposited presently 
to the satisfaction of a little nervous-looking man in gold-rimmed 
glasses. Mr. George Skidmore, of the Imperial Bank, had his share of 
ordinary courage, but he had an imagination, too, and he particularly 
disliked these periodical trips to branch banks, in convoy, so to speak. 
He took no risks. 
"Awful night, sir," the guard observed. "Rather lucky to get a carriage 
to yourself, sir. Don't suppose you would have done so only we're 
taking a corpse as far as Lydmouth, which is our first stop." 
"Really?" Skidmore said carelessly. "Ill wind that blows nobody good, 
Catesby. I may be overcautious, but I much prefer a carriage to myself. 
And my people prefer it, too.    
    
		
	
	
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