They were running well. Tanner watched the whirling hedges, lit up by the strong headlights, and blurred by the speed into quivering smudges, and judged they must be doing well on to forty miles an hour. It was, of course, breaking the law; moreover, it was by no means safe, but Tanner did not let such considerations weigh against the chance of checkmating the man who had duped him. He had informed the chauffeur he would be responsible if there was trouble.
He fell to reckoning distances. He was not very well up in the geography of the district, but he knew there were two roads, north through Yeovil and Salisbury, and south through Dorchester and Poole. He imagined neither of these was quite direct, but he did not know if there was a good road lying between them.
In about half an hour they slackened for a town, after which the road rose for some miles. Then in half an hour more it fell again and they ran through another town, whose name appeared on several buildings—Chard. “The Salisbury Road,” thought Tanner. Forty minutes later they left Yeovil behind and at , nearly three hours after leaving Exeter, they turned out of Salisbury on the Southampton road.
“Not bad going,” thought Tanner. “If we can keep it up we should be at the boat at .”
But alas! the driver’s knowledge of the road which had served them so well up to Salisbury, now failed them. They had to reduce speed at crossroads and run more cautiously. Fortunately, it was now fairly light, or their progress would have been still slower.
Tanner, was getting nervous. It was going to be a near thing. He held his watch in his hand and counted the mileposts as one after another they dropped behind. Now it was , and still they had nine miles to go.
At last they came to the town. But here matters instead of mending, grew much worse. Neither Tanner nor the driver knew the streets, and precious minutes were wasted trying to puzzle out the way from the rather inferior map the latter had brought.
. Tanner was in desperation. And then to his relief his eye fell on a policeman. It was the work of a moment to call him over, explain the situation, and get him up beside the driver. Then their troubles were over. The streets were empty and they made fine speed.
It wanted as the car pulled up at the docks, and Tanner leaped out and raced to the berth of the great liner. A man whom he instantly recognised as a policeman in plain clothes stood near the bottom of each gangway, while a third was sauntering along the edge of the wharf beside the boat. Tanner spoke hurriedly to the latter.
“He’s not on board, sir,” the man answered. “We were here before he could have got down from the Town Station, and besides we made inquiries.”
“The other side of the ship?” queried the Inspector.
“We have a man rowing up and down.”
Tanner grunted.
“Who’s in charge?” he asked.
“Sergeant Holmes. He went to phone the station. He’ll be back directly.”
Tanner was woefully disappointed. He felt that if Douglas was not already aboard he would never risk it now. Had the man, he wondered, been sharper than he had counted on, and once again given him the slip? Fortunately, he had taken the obvious precaution of wiring all the stations at which the stopped, so that, even if Douglas had alighted elsewhere, he would almost certainly be spotted. But had Douglas travelled by the at all? Was his haste with the taxi and his purchase of the ticket another trick, and was he lying low in Exeter, intending still further to alter his appearance and make a bolt elsewhere? Or was he walking all night with the object of joining a train at some quite different station in the morning? Tanner could not guess.
Three minutes only remained and Tanner grew more and more anxious. It was now or never. Then, as the gangways were being hoisted, a sergeant of police appeared and went up to one of the plain clothes men. Tanner hurried forward.
“Mr. Tanner, sir?” said the sergeant. “I’m very sorry, sir, but you’re late.”
“Late?” Tanner cried sharply. “What do you mean, sergeant? There’s plenty of time to go on board still.”
The sergeant shook his head.
“He’s not there, sir. He’s gone. I’ve just learnt that he left by the Vaal River. She sailed at .”
“Damnation!” cried Tanner angrily. “What were you thinking about, sergeant? How in hell did you let him slip through your fingers?”
“The man I sent down, sir, missed him. I can’t imagine how he did it, but you’ll hear what he has to say yourself. After I had all—”
“I’ll see him,” said Tanner grimly. “How did you find it out?”
“I posted the men, sir, first, then I went round them myself. I got to the Vaal River’s berth as she was sheering out. I made inquiries at the office. There is no doubt the man booked.”
“Where to?”
“Tangier, sir.”
“H’m—Morocco, and there’s no extradition from there. Where else does the boat call?”
“Lisbon, Marseilles, Naples, Suez, Delagoa Bay and Durban.”
“I’ll get him at Lisbon. Show me the office.”
They hurried down to the East Africa Line Quay office. There Tanner interviewed the booking clerk and satisfied himself that Douglas really had sailed. He had booked under the name of Walter Donnell.
“Lisbon is the first call?” asked the Inspector.
“Yes. She’s due there about .”
“And this is . That’s about a fifty hour run?”
“About that.”
“I must get there before her. How am I to do it?”
The clerk stared.
“I’m afraid you can’t,”
