“Overland?”
“No. There’s not time. If you had caught the Havre boat last night you could have done it. You can’t now.”
“Let me see the time table.”
The clerk produced a Continental Bradshaw.
“Here you are,” he said, turning to the “Through Routes” on page 6. “You see there are two trains a day from Paris to Lisbon. One, the ordinary, leaves Paris at at night. It gets to Lisbon at two nights later—that is, about a fifty hours’ run. That’s out of the question, and you’ll see the other is too. It’s a special fast train, the Sud Express, and it leaves Paris at midday, and reaches Lisbon at the following evening—that is thirty-four hours and a half. Now if you could catch that train today you’d be all right. But you couldn’t. Even if you could catch the from Victoria, which you couldn’t. That would only bring you into Paris at —five hours late.”
“How long does your boat lie at Lisbon?”
“About four hours. She’s due away about .”
Tanner felt he was up against it. So far as he could see it was impossible for him to reach Lisbon before , and by that time the man he wanted would already have left some twelve hours. And if he missed him at Lisbon, he would miss him for good. He could never get him once he was ashore at Tangier. Nor was it any more possible for another officer from the Yard to go in his place.
Of course, there were the Portuguese police. Tanner had never been in Portugal, and knew nothing whatever about its police, but he had the not uncommon insular distrust of foreign efficiency. As he put it to himself, he would rather rely on himself any day than trust to any of these foreign chaps. But there seemed no other way.
Absently thanking the clerk, he walked with the sergeant back to his car and drove to the police station. As he dismounted an idea shot suddenly into his mind.
“Get the car ready for another run,” he shouted and hurrying to the telephone, put through a call to Scotland Yard.
“Yes, I’m Tanner,” he said, when the connection was made. “The Ponson Case. That man Douglas I’m after got away on the Vaal River. Sailed from Southampton at this morning. First call Lisbon. I must be there to meet him. It can only be done if I leave Paris at today. None of the ordinary services would get me over in time. Can you arrange with the Air people to give me a plane?”
He was told to wait, and at the reply came.
“The Deputy Chief has arranged for a fast plane to leave the drome near Petersfield as soon as possible. Get there at once and report to Major Forbes. Call at Hendon and we shall have French and Portuguese money for you, as well as the extradition warrant.”
Tanner was not long in reaching Petersfield, but there was a delay at the aerodrome, and he chafed impatiently as the precious minutes slipped away. It was not indeed till a little after that the actual start was made. The morning was clear at first, and they made good speed to Hendon, alighting and picking up the money and papers. But as they reached the coast they ran into a haze, which soon developed into a thick fog. The pilot did his best, going straight on by dead reckoning, but when in another hour they got through it, they found they had gone a good deal out of their course in a northerly direction. Tanner swore bitterly, for he found his margin of time was growing less and less. Finally they picked up the main line of the Northern Railway, and following it fairly closely, at last saw creeping up over the horizon the buildings of the capital.
“Down in ten minutes,” the pilot roared, and Tanner nodded as he looked his watch.
It was , and the Inspector recognised he would have to run for it. Soon they were above Argenteuil and crossing the great loops of the Seine, with St. Cloud on the right and the vast city stretching away to the left. Now they were planing rapidly down, till with a gentle shock they alighted at the edge of the flying ground at Issy. Tanner leaped out and ran to the entrance as fast as the stiffness of his legs would allow. As he did so sounded from the clock towers. He had seventeen minutes, the Gare Quai d’Orsay was two miles away, and there were no taxis within sight.
There was but one thing to do and Tanner did it. Some private cars were drawn up on the road just outside the flying ground. Tanner ran his eye hastily over them and selected one, a racing car from which a sporting looking man was just descending. The detective hailed him.
“Sir,” he panted, “I have crossed by aeroplane from England to catch the at the Gare Quai d’Orsay, and now I can’t get a taxi. If you would run me till we meet a taxi, I just couldn’t say how grateful I’d be.”
The man looked puzzled.
“I not speak Engleesh,” he said slowly, then adding interrogatively, “You weesh—aller, aller—go—à la Gare Quai d’Orsay?”
Tanner nodded emphatically, and taking out his watch, ran his finger from the minute hand, which was now standing at , to . The man threw up his left hand to signify comprehension.
“Ah, oui,” he answered. “Bon. Montez vite, monsieur. Chomp een.”
Tanner had obeyed the gesture before the man finished speaking, and the powerful car, swinging round, shot rapidly eastwards
