He felt ruefully sure that the whole thing was part of the elaborate laying of a false trail, but he did not see that anything was to be gained by discussing this with the ship’s officers. He pushed his papers towards the purser.
“Can you recognise the parties from those, Mr. Jennings?”
A glance at the photograph sufficed. The original was undoubtedly that Mrs. Vane who had for a brief half-hour boarded the Enoch. And the description was that of Mr. Vane also. French was forced to the conclusion that his quarry had indeed, in the Captain’s words, been too many for him. He swore bitterly beneath his breath.
“You say they left some luggage in their stateroom,” he went on. “Could I have a look at it?”
“Of course. But, you know, they may still be here. On several occasions I have known passengers to miss the ship at Liverpool and follow on here. They may turn up at any minute.”
“If they do, so much the better,” French answered. “But I won’t bank on it. If you don’t mind, I’ll have a look at the luggage now. What time do you sail?”
“In about half an hour.”
“That will just give me time. Meantime I have a man at the gangway, and he’ll spot them if they come along.”
There were four large suitcases in the roomy and comfortable stateroom set apart for the Vanes, as well as a number of articles of toilet and apparel which might well represent the first hurried attempt at unpacking. The suitcases were locked, but French soon opened them with his bunch of skeleton keys. And here he got confirmation of his theory that all this journey to Manáos was merely a carefully thought out plan. The cases were empty. Dummy luggage, brought in to bolster up the trick. But there was nothing in the cabin to give any hint of where the fugitives had really gone.
“I needn’t wait for them to turn up,” French said grimly. “Those empty suitcases give the show away.”