II
Clement Seadon and the detective had made their way through the underground passage that leads from the great hotel to the railway station. They were to catch the train west to Banff. They were emerging into the booking hall when Gatineau caught hold of the Englishman’s arm.
Instinctively Clement looked ahead.
Seen through the glass swing-doors of the passage a young man passed towards the platform walking swiftly. He was a slim, lithe young man with a dark, aquiline face. And he had his right arm in a sling. There was no mistaking the curious lilting walk, as there was no mistaking the features of the man.
“Good God!” said Clement “Siwash Mike! Siwash here—why?”
“Not trailing us anyhow, I guess,” said Gatineau.
“How can you say that?”
“He hasn’t the air—an’ then, he’s got a grip in his hand. He is going to catch the westbound to join brother Neuburg at Banff.”
“Perhaps,” said Clement, remembering how they had been tricked before. “But why is he in Winnipeg?”
“That’s easy,” said the detective. “He probably got in here over the other railway north of Cobalt, and has changed onto our line for Banff. But we’d better watch him.”
They followed the half-breed cautiously, and saw him follow the crowd up the steps of Platform 6. There was no doubt that he was watching the westbound. Like a flash Gatineau did not go up the steps of Platform 6. He nipped up the steps of Platform 4. They arrived on the railway level just in time to see Siwash gain the platform. They took cover, and across the station watched him. They seemed astonishingly close, but it was obvious that he was not suspicious; he did not throw a glance their way.
Almost at once Clement said, “There is something more in this than merely catching the westbound, Gatineau. He’s waiting near the exit—for some reason.”
“He’s waiting for somebody, I guess,” said Gatineau. “Somebody who is stopping off the Montreal train.”
Clement’s heart jumped. Somebody who was stopping off from the transcontinental train—who could that somebody be? Heloise? Certainly his heart fluttered. Perhaps after all this was the end of the chase. It was more than likely Siwash had received some message from Neuburg at Winnipeg—he’d know how and where to pick one up, and that message had warned him to meet this train and Méduse and Heloise who came by it. He thought that quite likely, and then Gatineau said, “But why that grip?”
Yes, that was a puzzle. If he was meeting some one, why carry baggage for a journey?
With its loudly clanging bell the great train steamed slowly into the station. Both men watched the half-breed with the keenest attention. He stood there quite passively as the passengers thronged out of the cars. He watched them indolently as they passed him in a stream. Then with an air of casualness he picked up his grip and strolled towards the train.
“Damn,” grunted Clement. “Nothing at all. He’s just going to board the train. Look here, we must look slippy, too, if we are to travel by her also.”
He picked up his own grip, began to move out to cross the intervening rails and platforms to the train. Gatineau said suddenly, “Hold on—ain’t that long scarecrow of a feller interested in our pal?”
Clement shot a look towards the train. He saw a tall man moving aimlessly after Siwash. Clement did not recognize this fellow until suddenly he caught a flash of a skinny leg and arm as the fellow dodged between the passengers, and he had an abrupt twinge of memory. Where the devil had he seen that scarecrow before?
Gatineau caught his arm and lugged him behind a stack of baggage.
Siwash had walked up to the car in which his seat was reserved. He handed his grip to the black porter, and then, after pretending to mount into the car, had turned back as though to take one last look at Winnipeg. In that moment he swept the whole of the platform with a searching glance—fortunately he kept his eyes on his own platform. Satisfied that there were no watchers, he turned and stared straight at the skinny man. The skinny man was by his side in a moment.
There was a swift talk between the twain. The skinny one listening attentively, and nodding his head as if he understood. Then Siwash took a paper from his pocket, and the other stretched out his long and skinny arm. And at that gesture, memory came to Clement. He remembered acutely such an arm stretching out from a small window clutching at the pistol hand of Siwash. “Heavens!” he breathed. “The fellow from the glue factory—from the Sault Algonquin at Quebec. Another of the beasts on the spot.”