“He hasn’t come!” he cried excitedly. “I watched at the station and he didn’t get out!”
Consternation showed on every face, and Beamish swore bitterly. There was a variety of comments and conjectures.
“There’s no other train?”
“Only the express. It doesn’t stop here, but it stops at Hassle on notice to the guard.”
“He may have missed the connection at Selby,” Fox suggested. “In that case he would motor.”
Beamish spoke authoritatively.
“I wish, Benson, you would go and ring up the Central and see if there has been any message.”
Willis whispered to the sergeant, who, beckoning to two of his men, crept hurriedly down the port ladder to the lower deck. In a moment Benson followed down the starboard or lighted side. Willis listened breathlessly above, heard what he was expecting—a sudden scuffle, a muffled cry, a faint click, and then silence. He peeped through the porthole. Fox was expounding his theory about the railway connections, and none of those within had heard the sounds. Presently the sergeant returned with his men.
“Trussed him up to the davit pole,” he breathed in the inspector’s ear. “He won’t give no trouble.”
Willis nodded contentedly. That was one out of the way out of six, and he had fourteen on his side.