Fay leaned over the rail and studied the dark shadow toward which the ship was plunging. He wondered what fortune lay in the path he had chosen.
Events moved swiftly enough after the ship docked. Fay called a carriage and was driven rapidly to the railroad station, where he learned that a train would leave within ten minutes for Arendal.
Daylight, which came early, was breaking as the tiny locomotive puffed into the great Skagerrack Port where boats could be taken for a score of points—including the States.
One huge ship was in sight. Its long row of deck lights had not been extinguished. Lighters were alongside loading coal and a general cargo. A few all-night passengers were standing near the taffrail.
“She leaves at sun-down,� the station-master told Fay after he had inquired. “You can book passage on Nordland Street.�
Fay turned toward the girl. “We’ll ride around,� he said, “and look over the hotel registers. I’d know our friend Harry’s writing if I ever saw it. There’ll be a Count or a Duke or an M.P. or a mere Lord in front of it. He never played a small game.�
Their search, carried well into the afternoon, was almost without result. One clerk recalled seeing such a couple as Fay described—a tall Englishman with a monocle or smoked-glasses, and a cockney who wore as many buttons as a coster-monger.
The direction which they had taken from the hotel might have been to the railroad station or to the docks. Fay wasted time searching for a definite clue. It was only when the hoarse blare of the great siren on the ship announced its immediate departure that he acted on the last chance.
He grasped the girl’s arm and hurried her to the booking-office of the steamship line where a surly clerk had refused to show him the passenger list of the Drammen—the one ship in port.
“Two tickets to Stavanger,� he said. “I understand the Drammen puts in there.� He turned his lapel and showed the silver greyhound.