There was first of all a Canadian Pacific liner, which had sailed from the quays at 3:00 p.m., and at 3:30 a small passenger boat had left for Oslo and Bergen. The remaining boats were tramps. There were four coasters, two for Newcastle, one for Goole, and one for Belfast, a 6,000 tonner for Singapore and the Dutch Islands, another slightly smaller ship for Genoa and Spezia, and another for Boston, U.S.A. Then there was a big five-masted sailing ship, bound with a general cargo for Buenos Aires and the River Platte, and finally there was a small freighter in ballast for Casablanca.
Of these eleven ships, the windjammer at once attracted French’s attention. Here was a vessel on which, if you took a passage, you might easily require three dozen tins of peaches before you reached your journey’s end. He determined to begin with this, taking the other ships in order according to the position of their offices. Fortunately in each case the clerk had given him the name of the owners or agents.
His first call, therefore, was at an old-fashioned office in a small street close to the Steen Museum. There he saw M. Leblanc, the owner of the windjammer, and explained his business. But M. Leblanc could not help him. The old gentleman had never heard of Dangle nor had any one resembling his visitor’s photograph called or done any business with his firm. Moreover, no passengers had shipped on the windjammer, and the crew that had sailed was unchanged since the previous voyage.
This was not encouraging, and French went on to the next item on his program, the headquarters of the small freighter which had sailed in ballast for Casablanca. She was owned by Messrs. Merkel & Lowenthal, whose office was farther down the Rue des Tanneurs, and five minutes later he had pushed open the door and was inquiring for the principal.
This was a more modern establishment than that of M. Leblanc. Though small, the office ran to plate glass windows, teak furniture, polished brass fittings, and encaustic tiles, while the two typists he could envisage through the small inquiry window seemed unduly gorgeous as to raiment and pert as to demeanor.
He was kept waiting for some minutes, then told that M. Merkel, the head of the business, was away, but that M. Lowenthal, the junior partner, would see him.
His first glance told French that M. Lowenthal was a man to be watched. Seldom had he seen so many of the tell-tale signs of roguery concentrated in the features of one person. The junior partner had a mean, sly look, close-set, shifty eyes which would not meet French’s, and a large mouth with loose, fleshy lips. His manner was in accord with his appearance, now blustering, now almost fulsomely ingratiating. French took an instant dislike to him, and though he remained courteous as ever, he determined not to lay his cards on the table.
“My name,” he began, “as you will have seen from my card, is French, and I carry out the business of a general agent in London. I am trying to obtain an interview with a friend, who has been staying here, off and on, for some time. I came on here from Brussels in the hope of seeing him, but he had just left. I was told that he had sailed with your ship, the L’Escaut, on Thursday afternoon, and if so I called to ask at which port I should be likely to get in touch with him. His name is Dangle.”
While French spoke he watched the other narrowly, on his favorite theory that the involuntary replies to unexpected remarks—starts, changes of expression, sudden pallors—were more valuable than spoken answers.
But M. Lowenthal betrayed no emotion other than a mild surprise.