Suddenly, with the intuition given to the hunted, he saw a familiar form dodge out of his sight and behind a corner where the traffic swirled. He acted swiftly. Crossing the street, he hurried down the sidewalk and away from the station.
Fay went on with eyes darting to left and right. He passed an open doorway. In it stood two forms.
They had attempted to dodge out of sight, but were held by outpouring customers of the store where they had taken refuge.
Fay photographed them on his mind without turning his head in the slightest. He glided on with swift steps. A bitter smile crossed his lips as he sprang over the curb and darted between two vehicles.
One of the two men was MacKeenon! There could be no doubt of this at all. Fay had caught a side view of the Scotch inspector. His companion was a little old man with a bundle.
“And may your own bungling undo you!� Fay exclaimed as he turned a corner and darted out of sight. “I’m done,� he added. “I’ll never trust another copper.�
He was deeply in earnest. The sight of MacKeenon had stirred every drop of blood in his body. It was not enough that Sir Richard would send him after the cipher-key. The oily chief of the Identification Bureau had seen to it that the bloodhounds of the law went along in case of a change of heart.
Fay had changed his heart. It was steeled now against the project. He flashed a plan over his mind in the time of seconds. He would abandon the quest, make for the quays, take a boat for the north, and join the two card swindlers. In this manner the Yard would be foiled, and the cipher-key could rot in the safe.
Sir Richard had underestimated his man. Fay had the memory of five years in that Dartmoor hell to spur his heels. The chief had stated that he was to go
scot-free. The bitterness of this came home to him at the memory of MacKeenon’s long keen face. The hollow eyes and sharp features of the inspector—the gaunt, trained-to-the-last-ounce of energy and cunning stamped there, was a whip held over the felon.