Chapter III
THE YELLOW CAR
Next morning Maurice left the house at half-past nine, and walked through the village to the station, carrying his black bag. Seeing Count Slavianski and his secretary on the bench in front of the hotel, he saluted them with a shade less coolness than usual, fully expecting to hear the motor-car behind him before he was half-way to the station. To his surprise, however, none of the foreigners arrived in time for the train, and he supposed that he was to be allowed for once to make the journey to London unshadowed. This idea was dispelled as soon as he reached Sunbury. When the train drew up, he saw the Count and his secretary on the platform. They entered a compartment some little distance away.
At Waterloo he stood at the bookstall for a few moments, looking out for the Russians with sidelong glances. He saw nothing of them. Hailing a taxi-cab, he was driven to the Foreign Office, which he reached at a quarter-past eleven. On entering, he was taken this time to the Under-Secretary’s room.
“Good morning, Mr. Buckland,” said the official; “I am sorry to say that the despatch is not yet ready. News came early this morning which caused the Secretary to modify his instructions to your chief. He has drafted a new despatch, which is in course of being translated into cipher. I am afraid it will not be ready for a couple of hours yet.”
“That will give me time to make a few purchases,” said Buckland. “I shall be able to catch the two-twenty?”
“I hope so. It will be a pity to lose half a day.”
“I will leave my bag with you, then, and return in good time. By the way, you don’t happen to have heard of a gang of Austrian spies in London?”
“Not a word. Why do you ask?”
“A number of foreigners have been living at Shepperton for a week or two, and I’ve an idea they may be shadowing me. The chief of them passes as a Count Slavianski.”