‘We have a man rowing up and down.’
Tanner grunted.
‘Who’s in charge?’ he asked.
‘Sergeant Holmes. He went to phone the station. He’ll be back directly.’
Tanner was woefully disappointed. He felt that if Douglas was not already aboard he would never risk it now. Had the man, he wondered, been sharper than he had counted on, and once again given him the slip? Fortunately, he had taken the obvious precaution of wiring all the stations at which the 7.32 stopped, so that, even if Douglas had alighted elsewhere, he would almost certainly be spotted. But had Douglas travelled by the 7.32 at all? Was his haste with the taxi and his purchase of the ticket another trick, and was he lying low in Exeter, intending still further to alter his appearance and make a bolt elsewhere? Or was he walking all night with the object of joining a train at some quite different station in the morning? Tanner could not guess.
Three minutes only remained and Tanner grew more and more anxious. It was now or never. Then, as the gangways were being hoisted, a sergeant of police appeared and went up to one of the plain clothes men. Tanner hurried forward.
‘Mr Tanner, sir?’ said the sergeant. ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but you’re late.’
‘Late?’ Tanner cried sharply. ‘What do you mean, sergeant? There’s plenty of time to go on board still.’
The sergeant shook his head.
‘He’s not there, sir. He’s gone. I’ve just learnt that he left by the Vaal River. She sailed at four o’clock.’