Whether Jeanes, alias Mullen, had noticed any signs of curiosity in regard to his movements on the Professor’s part, and had intentionally misinformed that worthy; whether his suspicions had been aroused by his discovering that he was being shadowed to the hotel; or whether his change of plans was entirely accidental, I had no means of knowing; but that my adversary in the game of chess I was playing had again called “check” just when I had hoped to come out with the triumphant “mate” was not to be denied. The only additional information I succeeded in eliciting from the Professor was that Jeanes had visited the shop some month or so ago and had arranged that any letters sent there for him should be kept till he came for them. He had left half-a-sovereign on account and had called four times, receiving three letters, including that which had been handed to him by the Professor.
As for that precious rascal, I need scarcely say that I placed no reliance whatever upon what he said, and had seriously considered whether the story of his giving Jeanes the letter on the stairs, and then shadowing his customer to the hotel might not be an entire fabrication. I did not for a moment believe that he knew who Jeanes really was, for had he done so he would, I felt sure, have lost no time in securing the reward by handing the fugitive over to the police. But I quite recognised the possibility of his being in Jeanes’s pay, and had seriously asked myself whether the statement that Jeanes would not be having any more letters addressed to the shop, and would not be visiting Stanby again, might not be a ruse to get me out of the way. But that the Professor’s surprise and dismay when he found Jeanes gone from the hotel were genuine, no one who had witnessed them could have doubted, and as the circumstances generally tended to confirm his story, I was forced to the conclusion that he had, in this instance at all events, told the truth.
In that case I should be wasting time by remaining longer at Stanby; so after arranging with the Professor that if Jeanes called again, or if any other letters arrived for him, the word “News” should at once be telegraphed to an address which I gave, I packed my bag and caught the next train to town.
Mullen had called “check” at Stanby, it is true, but I was not without another move, by means of which I hoped eventually to “mate” him, and what that move was, the reader who remembers the contents of the intercepted letters will readily surmise.
In one of those letters the person to whom it was addressed was told that the steam yacht, by means of which he was to escape would be lying just off the boat-builder’s yard where the little yacht was laid up. Any one who did not know from whom the letter was, or under what circumstances it had been written, would not be any the wiser for this piece of information. But to one who knew, as I did, that the writer was the wife of Mr. Stanley Burgoyne, it would not be a difficult thing to ascertain the name of any small yacht of which that gentleman was the owner, and the place where it was likely to be laid up.
Whether Mullen intended to abandon or to carry out the plan he had formed for making his escape by the help of his sister, I had no means of knowing. If he suspected that his letters had been intercepted, he was tolerably sure to abandon the arrangement, or at all events to change the scene of operations. But if he was unaware of the fact that I had taken up the thread which poor Green had dropped, it was possible that he might assume his secret to be safe now Green was satisfactorily disposed of, and might carry out his original plan, in which event he would walk of his own accord into the trap which I was preparing for him. In any case I should be doing right in making inquiries about Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Burgoyne and their yacht, and with this end in view I purchased a copy of the current “Yachting Register.”
Turning to the letter B in the list of owners, I found that Mr. Stanley Scott Burgoyne’s club was the Royal London, and that he had two boats, one a big steam yacht called the “Fiona,” and the other a little five-tonner named the “Odd Trick.” It was no doubt in the former that Mr. and Mrs. Burgoyne had gone to Norway and by means of which Mullen was to fly the country, and it was probably to the latter that Mrs. Burgoyne had referred in her letter.
No one can be led to talk “shop” more readily than your enthusiastic yachtsman, and it did not require much diplomacy on my part to ascertain, by means of a visit to the Royal London Club House in Savile Row—in company with a member—that Mr. Burgoyne’s little cruiser was laid up at Gravesend, in charge of a man named Gunnell.
Him I accordingly visited, under the pretext of wanting to buy a yacht, and after some conversation I remarked casually—
“By-the-bye, I think you have my friend Mr. Stanley Burgoyne’s five-tonner, the ‘Odd Trick,’ laid up here, haven’t you?”