The Crewgir line was completed. However, two suburban locomotives were needed for it. One was already being built to a design of the Metropolitan Railway, and the Fat Director knew where to find another.

The Killdane waste dump was slowly switching traffic to the roads, which left their engine, Whiff, out of work. Seizing his chance, the Fat Director stepped in and purchased the I3. The Atlantic was ill suited for shunting, but perfect for suburban expresses.

"May I ask you, Whiff. How did you end there?"

"You can say I was kidnapped, sir."

"Perhaps I shouldn't question what that means," the Fat Director muttered. He then got into his car and drove away: he needed to check on James and see how he was getting on.

Whiff immediately set to work in his new role on the Cregwir Line. It wasn't a very big line, only running between Wathenwaite and Cregwir, but it was still better than shunting rubbish trains. He proved popular with passengers, but the coaches disliked the smell he still carried.

"I don't know how much more of that smell I can handle!" one of them complained to the Fat Director one day.

"I know Whiff doesn't smell the best," said the Fat Director, "but he can't help it: he's worked in a rubbish dumb for a long time. No wash can get rid of that smell so easily."

"Then find a proper engine, one that doesn't smell!" snorted another coach

"And what, may I ask IS a proper engine? In case you haven't noticed, all my engines are different. So by all logic, none of them can really be considered proper."

Whiff tried his hardest to get rid of that smell. He hated it, as much as he hated the waste dump.

"I don't get it," he said to an old brake van.

"What, dear?" she asked.

"I've tried everything I can think of to get rid of this smell: washdowns, getting a repaint, even a complete overhaul, but nothing worked! What am I doing wrong?!"

"I've heard humans take tomato baths when sprayed by skunks," said the brake van. "Maybe ask your driver and fireman to clean you with that."

Needless to say, that didn't work: the smell stayed. His next attempt involved being hosed down with seawater. That failed too.

Whiff was starting to get desperate. He began trying even the stupidest ideas, such as crashing himself into a wagon loaded with sugar. While his smell was slowly going away, it wasn't fast enough.

The cleaners suggested that the smell was stuck to his frames.

"You could get them replaced," they said, "but you won't be the same engine: you'll be an entirely new personality. I'm sorry Whiff, there's nothing that can be done."

Whiff puffed sadly away.

As he took a train from Vicarstown to Cregwir, a group of passengers were plotting. Whiff overheard them, as they were in the coach behind his bunker.

"You say zee clue leads to Cregvir? Vye?"

"According to my informant," said Wyatt, "there's an entry path somewhere in that town. You got any other leads you can rely on?"

"Only zat Cregvir, along vis zoze ozer sree towns, is known as zee heart of Sodor," said Commander Haus.

"I'm sure that's a clue," said Wyatt.

Whiff couldn't help but wonder why they would want to go to Cregwir, or what exactly they meant by Cregwir being part of the "Heart of Sodor": as far as he knew, no such place had ever been mentioned. Whiff began thinking of ways to get more information out of these men.

Later, when he was approaching Callan, Whiff thought of an idea which he told to his driver. As they waited at the station, the driver informed the guard. It was agreed to perform the plan at Cregwir.

When they arrived, the guard was quick to put the plan into action. He went to each compartment, informing the passengers that there was currently something going on that prevented them from leaving the coaches. When he got to the compartment containing the Germans, he told them the same thing.

"There's currently a suspicious group of people wandering around the platform, until they're caught, please stay in the coach."

Unexpectedly, Wyatt began to panic.

"We've been caught! Run for it!"

The group ran out of the compartment, past the guard, and out of the station. Which was just what Whiff wanted: suddenly, the Germans found themselves caught in a net!

"Well, Mr Wyatt. Seems your years of tax evasion caught up to you," said the guard as the porters dragged the net back to Whiff. "Good thinking, Whiff, I'll be sure to let the Fat Director know about this."

"You won't hold me!" snarled Wyatt. He got out a knife and began cutting through the net. Suddenly, a strong odour flew into the noses.

"Sveet musser of mercy, vat's zat smell?!" shouted Haus. Before anybody could answer, all four Germans had passed out. Whiff took a look at himself.

"Wow! My smell isn't such a burden after all!"

The crew, however, weren't satisfied.

"I'm not going to lie, that felt rather anticlimactic," said the driver.

"Shut up! This lot is caught and that's all that matters!" Whiff snorted.

The Sodor Council had indeed many charges against Wyatt, among those, more than seven years of not paying taxes. The Germans, knowing there was no point anymore, cut a deal with the court. To this day, all that's known for sure was that the deal meant they couldn't be sentenced to death. Wyatt, on the other hand, refused to accept everything was over.

"Vyatt, I know you're upset," said Commander Haus. "I'm upset too, but zare's no point in fightink anymore."

"Haus is right," agreed Wilhelm. "Ja, it vas fun vorkink togesser unt tryink to find zee Magic Railvay, but all good sinks come to an end."

"Not THIS good thing!" growled Wyatt.

"Vyatt, please," pleaded Wilhelm. "If you keep up zis obsession, you'll get novare, unt you don't vant zat to happen."

"I already ended up nowhere when they kicked me out of the military!" snapped Wyatt. "Just you wait, I'll get my revenge, even if it means leaving you behind!"

After days of efforts, he broke out, more determined to find the Magic Railway than ever before. Wyatt disappeared quickly, the prison guards unable to spot him: he proved to be very good at hiding. Commander Haus shook his head.

"He's definitely gone off zee deep end zis time," he said. Hermann and Wilhelm could only agree.

Hours later, the search was called off, and Wyatt snuck away without being seen. He wandered for miles until he spotted something: a giant tank engine with a Pacific wheel arrangement. He couldn't make out any colours on this engine, but he had a feeling he knew who it was.

"At last! I found you! I finally found you!"

Wyatt began running towards the engine. No matter how much he ran, it seemed he couldn't get any closer. Desperate, he dove for the engine. As he flew closer and closer, he prepared to grab it. Instead…he passed through the engine! Wyatt, surprised, found himself hitting his head on a tree. As he recovered, a voice spoke up.

"You will never get the secret of my railway, much less my power. One cannot simply walk into the Magic Railway. That has to be earned. The last bastard who took some of my power will die a painful death. Turn now, and you will live."

The tank engine departed the scene, slowly but surely getting speed, before disappearing into the night.

Defeated and upset, Wyatt got up and began following the direction the engine's smokebox had been facing. All he got was led to a tavern.

"Where is she?" he asked. "Where is that engine? I saw an engine come this way."

"You're bluffing," said a voice. Wyatt was furious.

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A LIAR!" he shouted, stomping over to a table.

"Not you!" one of the people sitting down snapped. "I'm talking to Wilson: we're playing Liar's Dice!"

"Liar's…Dice?" Wyatt asked slowly.

"Yes, that's right," said the man. "Come join us: you look like you need to take a load off. I have your ante covered."

Even as he played, Wyatt's mind was still on one thing. Getting to that engine, and claiming her power for himself.