These thoughts had scarcely passed through Cheyne’s mind when the event happened which caused him to congratulate himself on the seat he was occupying. At the extreme end of the coach, immediately in advance of his compartment, was the lavatory, and at this moment, just as they were stopping at Teignmouth, a man carrying a small kitbag passed along the corridor and entered. Approaching from behind Cheyne, he did not see the latter’s face, but Cheyne saw him. It was Price!
Cheyne took an engagement book from his pocket and bent low over it, lest the other should recognize him on his return. But Price remained in the lavatory until they reached Dawlish, and here another stroke of luck was in store for Cheyne. At Dawlish, at which they stopped a few moments later, his vis-à-vis alighted, and Cheyne immediately changed his seat. When, therefore, just before the train started, Price left the lavatory, he again approached Cheyne from behind and again failed to see his face.
As he passed down the corridor Cheyne stared at him. While in the lavatory he had effected a wondrous change in his appearance. Gone now was the small dark mustache and the glasses, his hat was of a different type and his overcoat of a different color. Cheyne watched him pause hesitatingly at the door of the next compartment and finally enter.
For some moments as the train rattled along towards Exeter, Cheyne failed to grasp the significance of this last move. Then he saw that it was, as usual, part of a well-thought-out scheme. Approaching Teignmouth, Price had evidently left his compartment—almost certainly the fourth, where Lewisham sat—as if he were about to alight at the station. Instead of doing so, he had entered the lavatory. Disguised, or, more probably, with a previous disguise removed, he had left it before the train started from Dawlish, and appearing at the door of the second compartment, had attempted to convey the idea, almost certainly with success, that he had just joined the train.
A further thought made Cheyne swing across again to the seat facing the engine. They were approaching Starcross. Would Lewisham adopt the same subterfuge at this station? But he did not, and they reached Exeter without further adventure.
The train going no further, all passengers had to alight. Cheyne was in no hurry to move, and by the time he left the carriage Price and Lewisham were already far down the platform. He wished that he in his turn could find a false mustache and glasses, but he realized that if he kept his face hidden, his clothes were already a satisfactory disguise. He watched the two men begin to pace the platform, and soon felt satisfied that they were proceeding by a later train.
They had reached Exeter at Two expresses left the station shortly after, the for Liverpool, Manchester and the north, and the for London. Cheyne sat down on a deserted seat near the end of the platform and bent his head over his notebook while he watched the others.
The for the north arrived and left, and still the two men continued pacing up and down. “For London,” thought Cheyne, and slipping off to the booking hall he bought a first single for Paddington. If the men were traveling third, he would be better in a different class.
When the London express rolled majestically in, Price and Lewisham entered a third near the front of the train. Satisfied that he was still unobserved, Cheyne got into the first class diner farther back. He had not been very close to the men, but he noticed that Lewisham had also made some alteration in his appearance, which explained his not having changed in the lavatory on the local train.
The express was very fast, stopping only once—at Taunton. Here Cheyne, having satisfied himself that his quarry had not alighted, settled himself with an easy mind to await the arrival at Paddington. He dined luxuriously, and when at precisely they drew up in the terminus, he felt extremely fit and ready for any adventure that might offer itself.
From the pages of the many works of detective fiction which he had at one time or another digested, he knew exactly what to do. Jumping out as the train came to rest, he hurried along the platform until he had a view of the carriage in which the others had traveled. Then, keeping carefully in the background, he awaited developments.
Soon he saw the men alight, cross the platform and engage a taxi. This move also he was prepared for. Taking a taxi in his turn, he bent forward and said to the driver what the sleuths of his novels had so often said to their drivers in similar circumstances: “Follow that taxi. Ten bob extra if you keep it in sight.”
The driver looked at him curiously, but all he said was: “Right y’are, guv’nor,” and they slipped out at the heels of the other vehicle into the crowded streets.
Cheyne’s driver was a skillful man and they kept steadily behind the quarry, not close enough to excite suspicion, but too near to run any risk of being shaken off. Cheyne was chuckling excitedly and hugging himself at the success of his efforts thus far when, with the extraordinary capriciousness that Fate so often shows, his luck turned.
They had passed down Praed Street and turned up Edgware Road, and it was just where the latter merges into Maida Vale that the blow fell. Here the street was up and the traffic was congested. Both vehicles slackened down, but whereas the leader got through without a stop, Cheyne’s was held up to give the road to cross traffic. In vain Cheyne chafed and fretted; the raised arm of the law could not be
