Bobbie Selsbury had gone to Victoria to rescue his brother at the
eleventh hour from a situation which could be mildly described as
dangerous. He had searched one Continental train from end to end, and
was half way through another when the guard’s whistle sounded, and he
was faced with the alternatives of leaving his search incomplete or
going on to Dover. He decided upon the latter course, continuing his
inspection of the compartments, roving Pullman cars, peeping in upon
indignant honeymoon couples, without discovering the object of his
search. At Dover he discovered that there had been a relief train leave
Victoria at a quarter to eleven; the passengers were already on the
steamer. Gordon may have come by that, he thought, and made his
decision.
He had no passport, but most of the restrictions affecting Continental
travel, especially travel to Belgium, had been removed, and he was able
to convince the passport officer at the barrier that his business was
of such urgency, and his identity so well established, that a little
licence might be extended to him; and, on the promise that he would
return after leaving the ship, he was allowed to pass to the quayside.
He stopped only to get a call through to London, and, by great good
luck, found the Dover-London wire disengaged. The boat was crowded, and
he was no sooner on board than he saw how impossible it was to make sure
that Gordon was not on the boat by a search whilst the ship was in port.
The _Princess Juliana_ carried Bobbie to sea. He arrived at Ostend at
four o’clock in the afternoon, having satisfied himself that, although
there were many suspicious characters on the ship, Gordon and Mrs. van
Oynne were not two of them.
He spent two hours seeking the British Vice-Consul and persuading that
gentleman to give him the necessary certificate to be readmitted, and to
placate the passport officer on the other side, who had already been
notified of his unauthorized departure.
Very few of the Ostend hotels were open, but Bobbie made a tour of all,
examining their visitors’ books. Gordon was not in Ostend. That was a
relief. He might have changed his mind at the last moment and gone to
Paris, but that was unlikely. Bobbie believed his brother, though he
imposed the limit of strain upon his credulity.
He returned to Dover by the night boat, and came in the grey dawn to the
port, where he was held for two hours by the outraged passport
authorities, missing the boat train and finally catching a slow train
from the town station. He arrived in London at ten, unshaven, weary and
irritable, and he did then what he might well have done at first--he
drove straight to Scotland Yard, and, fortune favouring him, found
Inspector Carslake in his room. Carslake and he had been in France
together, and for twelve months had worked side by side in the
Intelligence Bureau, where enemy regiments were identified and their
positions plotted, by methods which would have puzzled cleverer people
than my dear Watson.
As briefly as possible Bobbie told his story, and the inspector listened
with unusual interest.
“It’s curious you should come to me. I have charge of the Double Dan
cases, and I must say that this looks like a typical coup of his.”
“Gordon isn’t an easy man to impersonate,” warned Bobbie, “though I
told him he was when I was trying to scare him.”
“Anybody is easy to Double Dan,” said Carslake at once. “Tall, short,
thin or fat. He’s a specialist--the only man at the game as far as I
know. You didn’t see the woman, Mrs. van Oynne?”
Bobbie shook his head.
“Do you know where she lives?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“He will do nothing till Monday,” said Carslake thoughtfully. “Dan only
works in banking hours, but when he does work he moves! I take off my
hat to Dan--he’s clever.”
“Who is he?”
“A man named Throgood. He used to be an actor--I believe he’s played
opposite some of the best people in America. He was the English dude
type. He himself is English or Welsh. His partner is an American or a
Canadian, and an ex-chorus girl. Maybe it’s the same--rather slight,
short, with golden hair, blue eyes?”
Bobbie shook his head.
“Doesn’t sound like Mrs. van Oynne,” he said, hope dawning in his
breast. “Perhaps I’m mistaken. You’re sure?”
Carslake nodded.
“We trailed her to Paris and missed her. I shouldn’t think he’d be
working again for a very long time. He likes to allow the excitement to
die down, and I shouldn’t think that he’d take on a new partner; they
require very careful training.” He chuckled. “Double Dan’s getting on
the nerves of some of your commercial people,” he said, “but I don’t
think I should worry very much about him. Anyway, I’ll come along and
see you on Monday.”
Bobbie went home, feeling happier than he had been for the past
twenty-four hours.