“You have lost the train,” said the Minister. “It was unavoidable, and is perhaps not altogether unfortunate. The police have just reported a number of suspicious characters hanging about the termini.”
“I fancy I have been shadowed this morning, sir,” said Buckland. “A Count Slavianski has been living at Shepperton for some weeks, with a suite. A detective has been sent down to make inquiries.”
“Indeed! Then it will certainly be inadvisable to charter a special train and hold up the boat at Dover. We must do nothing to attract attention. I leave the route entirely to your discretion. A torpedo-boat will be at Brindisi on Friday, but should circumstances render it necessary for you to choose some other route, you are perfectly at liberty to do so. One thing is essential: that you should lose no time.”
“Might I have an Admiralty launch to put me across the Channel?” asked Buckland.
“Certainly. What is your idea?”
“To dodge these fellows, if I can, and join the slow train to Dover at some little station down the line. Then I could slip out at Dover Town station, and cut off to the launch.”
“That sounds promising. I will telephone to the Admiralty at once.”
The arrangement was quickly made. Buckland shook hands with the Secretary, locked the despatch in his bag, and left the building.
Glancing down Whitehall, he saw one of Count Slavianski’s underlings forty or fifty yards away on the opposite side of the street. He began to walk in the other direction towards Trafalgar Square, and was not much astonished to see another of the foreigners hanging about, in an apparently aimless manner, nearly the same distance away. As he went slowly towards the Grand Hotel, this man moved on also. Buckland crossed the road, and halted to look in at a bookseller’s window. A glance to the left showed him that the other man had followed him at about the same pace. There was no longer the least room for doubt. He was being dogged.
He went on, and glanced down Northumberland Avenue, on arriving at the corner. At the entrance of the Victoria Hotel stood a large racing motor-car, with a yellow body. It was empty, and neither Count Slavianski nor any of his party was to be seen. But Buckland felt certain that it was the Count’s car. “A very keen lot,” he thought. Keeping a careful guard over himself so that he should not betray any sign of consciousness that he was surrounded by watchers, he walked into the hall of the Grand Hotel.