"It is possible."
"Well, hunt it out and look up the boats for Calais. How long have they been gone?"
"Perhaps three-quarters of an hour."
"A dashed good start!" exclaimed Burton. "We'll save time if you bring the ABC down to the creek. Buck up, old chap; no wool-gathering now, for goodness' sake."
They parted. A brief examination of the tracks assured Burton that the cyclists had continued their journey eastward. They would probably run into the highroad to Dover somewhere about Norton Ash. Returning to the creek he was met by Micklewright with the buff-coloured timetable. Micklewright was limping a little.
"There's no Calais boat at this time of day," he said.
"Did you try Folkestone?"
"It didn't occur to me."
Burton took the time-table from him and turned over the pages rapidly.
"Here we are: Folkestone to Boulogne, 4.10. It's now 3.35," said Burton, looking at his watch. "I can easily get to Folkestone in half an hour or less--possibly intercept the beggars if they don't know the road: in any case be in time to put the police on before the boat starts. You'll come, Pickles?"