The disappearance of Ellis must have restored my wits, for I realized in a flash that the first thing which I must do was to inform Mansel. I, therefore, ran down the street to Cleveland Row and happily found him in the act of leaving his flat.
Directly he saw me, he turned, and I followed him through his hall and into the dining-room.
“Yes?” he said shortly.
I told my tale, and he frowned.
“I don’t know whether this is good luck or bad luck,” he said. “But I think it’s bad luck. Anyway we must take no chances.” He thought for a moment there. Then he went on: “Ellis now knows for certain that Wagensburg interests you. If your excitement was apparent, he may even suspect that you hold the secret itself. That you made no attempt to detain him wouldn’t weigh much with me, because a good many people would hesitate to seize a man in the West End for a murder which nobody knows has been committed in France; but he would probably ascribe your failure to reluctance to court inquiry. So I’m glad you followed him.”
“He didn’t see me,” I said.
“I expect the cab had a back window,” said Mansel. “Anyway, Ellis will act. He may even try to watch.” He took out his case and lighted a cigarette. “I’d like you and Hanbury to take the boat-train tomorrow. And I’ll go over tonight.”
Then he gave me careful directions, told me on no account to return to Cleveland Row and not to walk alone after dark.
“You see,” he said, “you’ve lost Ellis, but you mustn’t make sure that Ellis has lost you. I rather expect he’s thinking of other things, but you never can tell. And those cabs can turn on sixpence.”
As I walked down Pall Mall, I felt as though every step I took was marked by a hundred eyes.
I lodged the envelope at the Bank, and then drove off to find Hanbury and tell him of the change in our plans. Then we went out together and bought two tickets to Paris for the following day.
I do not suppose two men ever used their eyes as we did from then until we saw Mansel again; and that, I imagine, was just what Mansel wanted, for, although I do not think he thought it likely that I should be followed, he would have been very glad to know what Ellis was doing and whether the man was alone or going to work with a gang. But Hanbury and I proved broken reeds, and, when we rejoined him, we had nothing at all to report: and this shows of how much use we were, for it afterwards appeared that Ellis had turned at the top of St. James’s Street and had driven back to see me turn into Cleveland Row, that I had been followed to the Bank, to Hanbury’s father’s house and to Cook’s office, and that it was only at Boulogne that touch with me had been lost. And for that relief we had Mansel’s prevision to thank.
At four that afternoon the commissionaire attached to my Club brought me my passport and took away all my luggage, both light and heavy; and, when I left Town the next morning, the suitcase I took with me held nothing but worn-out clothes, for which I had no use. Of Hanbury the same can be said. We left by the morning train, and came to Boulogne about noon of a beautiful day. We were soon off the boat and, since we had reserved no seats in the Paris train, we made a fuss of securing the ones we wanted as well as a table for the first luncheon to be served. When our luggage was up on the rack and the porters had been dismissed, we strolled up and down the platform, like everyone else, but, after a little, we wandered on to the quay and presently out of sight.
We made our way to a tavern in the heart of the town, and there found Mansel’s Rolls-Royce, and, within, Mansel himself, smoking and drinking beer, and arguing with the host about the Battle of the Somme. He had come that day from Dieppe.
He seemed very pleased to see us, and ordered luncheon at once, “for,” said he, “I want to be in Strasbourg by dawn, and lie up there for the day. I was watched out of London last night, and, though they’ve lost me now, they’ll probably make a fresh cast.”
“But what could they do,” said Hanbury, “if they did pick you up on the road?”
“Why, what they have done,” said Mansel, “not very far from Chartres. Don’t forget,” he added, “that we three hold the secret which that man held. And I think Ellis thinks we do.”
And there, I think, for the first time, it came to me how great was the power of those two leather bags which lay in the chamber of the great well, and I seemed to see them as impassive, relentless twin gods, bringing this man to death and holding that man for the gallows and sending another four or five pelting across a continent, like so many thieves in the night, to God knows what fortune, while, as for the hatred and malice and uncharitableness which they were inspiring, even the compilers of the Litany cannot have contemplated so poisonous a flow of soul. But, though it seemed very shocking, I felt very cheerful to think I was one of the “thieves,” and the thought of stealing a march upon men so bold and determined as Ellis and his friends, was like a glass of champagne.
Whilst we were lunching, a basket was stocked with provisions
