The car ran straight on to the quay and pulled up.
“Can you lend me a telescope?” asked Maurice of the officer.
In a few moments a seaman brought a glass from below. Looking through it, Maurice saw Count Slavianski, his secretary, and two other men standing beside the car, and speaking to a policeman, whose right arm was outstretched towards the launch.
“It’s rather a joke to think of these foreigners applying to a British bobby for information about us,” said Maurice, handing the glass to his brother.
Next moment the men sprang into the car again, and drove quickly in the direction of the inner harbour.
“I hope we’ve seen the last of them,” said George.
“You may be sure we haven’t,” replied Maurice, who more fully realised the seriousness of this headlong pursuit. “We must make the most of our start. The Calais boat lands passengers in time for the train that reaches Paris at 5.50 in the morning. We shan’t have more than a couple of hours at the most.”
“What’s in the wind?” asked the lieutenant, whose curiosity had been aroused by the appearance of the odd-looking gyro-car and the evident interest of his passengers in the proceedings on shore. And Maurice Buckland told him as much as he thought proper of the story.