The people around the table stirred uneasily in their seats. They were caught up in the drama; the horror in the man's voice reaching out to them.

"It came down the ramp at a cracking pace, I can tell you. I had to jump out of the way, quick, like, or it would have run me down. I didn't mind that so much, but what really gave me the creeps was when I realised that the man in the wheel chair was unconscious. Now, that was spooky!

"There was this ugly red gash on his forehead and the temple was going blue with the bruising. His eyes were closed and the poor old devil looked like death itself. There was nothing I could do but watch!

"Then there came this almighty shriek and the Intercity Express came hurtling through the station. It was a race between the train and the wheel chair. Which would reach that bit of railway line first? Petrified, I could only stand and watch as that monster rushed onwards, filling the air with the noise and the stench of diesel fumes.

“Helplessly, I saw the flimsy invalid-chair racing towards certain destruction beneath the wheels of the massive express - the unconscious man, lolling about like a broken doll, as powerless to resist as a feather in a whirlpool! I began to cover my ears and close my eyes to the sickening inevitability of it all; living the sheer horror moments before it would happen.

"Then, from nowhere, came this porter's trolley. It hit the wheel chair sideways on, throwing the unconscious man to the ground, but the carriage itself raced onwards, completely out of control. Now, I could hear the dreadful splintering sound as it was crushed like matchwood beneath the huge wheels of the thundering express. Unconcerned, the train hurtled on through the station and out the other side and I watched as it disappeared into the night.

"He's out like a light, a voice said and looking round I could see a porter standing over the slack body of the man on the concrete platform. Walking over to him I said - Lucky you were there with your trolley.

" He agreed. Aye, he said - he'd have been a gonna for sure. Nothing else could have saved him.

"'Pretty quick thinking I replied, bending down to look at the pasty face of the man at my feet. He looked a funny colour to me and I wondered if he was gonna be OK.

"The porter knelt down and took hold of the invalid's wrist, concentrating hard. Eventually he said: He should be all right. His pulse is a bit sluggish, but then his system has received a nasty shock.

" But, who is he? I wanted to know and the porter pushed back his cap and scratched his head Search me, mate, he said. . But, more to the point, why was he on his own in the first place? The railway man looked puzzled.

"There was nothing I could do but help bundle the unconscious man onto the luggage trolley and then watch as the porter wheeled him towards the Station Master's office."

As the man completed his evidence and the long monologue finally drew to a close, people in the room began moving uneasily in their seats. The atmosphere was becoming tense as the man was thanked for his testimony and then asked to make way for the next person.

"My name is Ambrose Mortimer," said the next witness. "I am a solicitor, and, before my retirement, I acted for Mr Abraham Baker, the old gentleman in the wheel-chair."

The room seemed to be growing chill.

"It was his nephews, you see," the gentle voice continued. "They couldn't wait for the old man to die. They wanted his money and they wanted to hurry things up a bit. It didn't take much planning to stage the accident at the railway station. At least that's what Mr Baker told me"

There was a short silence and then a gentle chuckle. "But, the porter foiled them. He saved the old man's life and, in gratitude, Mr Baker changed his will. The porter became his sole beneficiary and the nephews were cut off without a penny. Served them right, too!" A note of triumph entered his voice, but this was soon replaced by a more wistful one; one of infinite sadness. "Mr Baker eventually died, and, it's my firm opinion that the incident at the railway station hastened his death. Shock you know. It can do dreadful things to a man - especially a very old man.

"When the nephews discovered that they had lost their inheritances they contested the will in court and it was declared invalid. The estate reverted back to them against the old man's expressed wishes."

The solicitor's voice began to rise with excitement. "And, they, the ungrateful wretches, began to spend, spend, spend. They couldn't get rid of it fast enough."

As the gentle, refined voice trailed away, there was the sound of a little asthmatic cough and the room grew deathly still. For a while it seemed that all was lost and that the invalid had been cheated.

"But, they didn't get away with it!" The solicitor was shouting now. "The old man had the last laugh because most of his money was tied up in shares. Just before his death, Mr Baker invested heavily in high yield, high risk shares - a thing that he would never normally have done. Then, when the inevitable happened and the major holdings collapsed - the nephews lost the lot!"

Now there was a disturbance in the room and a youngish man rose to his feet, but he was quickly taken by the arm and pulled back into his seat. He refused to be silenced, however: "Why?" he demanded. "After all this time! Why are you telling us all this?"

A fresh voice could now be heard - but this was the timeworn, world-weary voice of a very old man: "I'll tell you why, Nephew," he replied in an incredibly sad voice. "It's because I was the winner in the end. Not you. Not your odious brother, but me! But I needed someone to tell, or otherwise it becomes just a sham. Just a hollow victory."

As the voice faded away, the people in the room remained seated around the table, hands still tightly linked. The medium, a stout woman with florid cheeks and short, jet-black hair, fell back into her chair - utterly drained.

ends