“Ye go through a side door,â€� he said. “A’y’ll follow ye—to see that ye get there. A had a slip-up in this spot once. My mon got clean away.â€�
The Scot glanced at Fay with a glitter in his eyes. The cracksman shivered slightly. He could not help
the movement. There was that to the inspector’s which spoke of blood-hunting instincts bred in their bones.
“They’re all the same,� he whispered to Saidee Isaacs. “I told you they were all the same.�
She signaled caution and followed him through to the train-shed. MacKeenon spoke to the guard. The compartment was unlocked. They entered and sat down.
The Dundee detective stood on the running-board with his watch in hand and his eyes glued upon the station-master, who wore more medals than a German field marshal of Hohenzollern days.
“Ye’re off,� he announced, snapping shut his watch. “A wish ye all a pleasant trip.�
The train pulled out of the long station and struck across the city. It plunged into a covered bridge and out upon highland. It took the switches and shunts like a scared cat on a fence. It tunneled the fog and the night—south-bound for Edinburgh and London.
MacKeenon reached and tried both doors of the compartment. He turned, fished into his vest pocket, and brought forth a tiny key.
“A’y’ll take off the darbies, now,� he said, slipping the key into the barrel lock of the handcuffs. “Ye can rest easier.�