“First stop, Carinthia,” said George.
“If you please,” said Mansel. “I hope we shall be at St. Martin in twenty-four hours. We must water and feed, of course, and fill up the cars: but I wired to my cousin that we should be there by dawn, and I rather fancy, poor fellow, he’ll watch the clock.”
We had already decided that, though we might rest at Poganec after our run, we should leave our baggage at Villach, at an inn which we knew; for not only was this town more central, but to have to “report progress,” as we should if we stayed with the Pleydells, whenever we came or went would be intolerable. This may seem a harsh decision, as they were so deeply concerned, but we should be dealing, we knew, with life and death, and that we should be hampered by any sort of obligation was not to be thought of. We did not expect, however, to have much use for a base, but to be constantly moving in search or pursuit of Adèle: and this was why Mansel had been insistent that the cars should demand no attention, yet withstand incessant use.
As the boat entered the harbour, we came on deck and presently made out Bell, who was standing with three officials on the edge of the quay. So soon as he saw us, he pointed us out to his companions, one of whom boarded the steamer before she was fairly at rest. I met him with our papers, and, since they were what he had come for, he took them without a word.
This was well enough, but the cars had to be unshipped, and, since the boat-train was waiting, the ordinary registered baggage must, as always, be taken off first. That this would be a long business seemed very probable, for there was but one crane manned, and, as luck would have it, there were many passengers.
As the man who had taken our papers regained the quay, the main gangways were run inboard, and I saw for the first time that Bell had a watch in his hand. A little way off was a lad in charge of a basket and a small stack of petrol cans.
“Full marks to Bell,” said Mansel. “They’re going to take the cars first.”
And so indeed they did—such is the power of money.
Mansel’s Rolls was ashore before any of us, and, at a sign from Bell, the lad with the basket began to fill her tank. As the second car was landed, the man who had taken our papers came running out of some office with the documents stamped and signed, and, after a glance at our number-plates, handed me back the wallet and raised his hat. Then our baggage was hastily chalked, and, as Mansel started his engine, Bell put away his watch.
“We’re free to proceed, sir,” he said, touching his hat. “By your leave I’ll pay them the money and find you outside.”
“Well done indeed,” said Mansel. “How long have we been?”
“Just under a quarter of an hour, sir. I promised them five thousand if they did it in half an hour, and I said I’d double the money if they did it in half the time.”
With that, he disappeared, and Hanbury started our engine, as Mansel, with Carson and Tester, drove off the quay.
The lad charged to fill our tank was a clumsy workman, so I told him to stand aside and did it myself: and George descended and helped me by taking the caps from the cans.
“You drive first,” he said. “It won’t be light for some time, and your eyes are keener than mine.”
“Very well,” said I.
The landing of the registered baggage was now in full swing, and the quay was alive with porters, bustling to and fro in the lamplight and making less progress than noise: and, since the baggage itself was being swung over our heads, I was glad to screw its cap to the tank and to take my seat in the car.
Hanbury picked up the basket and followed me in.
The eastern sky was pale, but it was yet very dark.
Now as we were moving slowly towards the street, I became aware of some paper upon which I seemed to have sat down. So soon as I had a hand free, I plucked this from under my legs, to find it a dirty envelope, bearing no superscription, but sealed.
“What’s that?” said George, peering.
“It must have fallen from the baggage,” I said. “The nets passed over the car. See what it is. If it’s a bill of lading, we’d better give it back.”
As Hanbury ripped open the envelope, Bell stepped out of the shadows on to the running board.
“Captain Mansel’s fifty yards on, sir; on the right of the street.”
“Very good,” said I, turning across the lines.
“It’s not a bill of lading,” said George sharply.
“What then?” said I, setting a foot on the brake.
By way of answer, he held it to the light of the lamp which illumined the instrument board.
It was a half-sheet of notepaper on which were printed four words:
The goods are perishable.
II
We Take the Field
To show Mansel a memento so ugly went against the grain: yet we dared not suppress it, so I drove to where he sat waiting, and Hanbury gave the paper into his hand.
He glanced at it, turned it about and then put it away.
“Where did you find it?” he said.
I told him on the seat of the car.
At once he turned to Bell and asked him to try to recall every person that he had seen in the last two hours: “for,” said he, “one of those men was a spy, and, though we can do nothing now, it might be very convenient if you would know him again.”
Then he asked if I was ready and let in his clutch. …
The day was coming, but,
