“I will yet put every last one of them against the wall,” he earnestly vowed; “the chief by this time has received my wire, and that coal boat will be a marked craft wherever it goes. Strange, though,” he continued, “that the skipper should have been so indifferent as to inspection, when he well knew what he would get if caught at deception.”
Billy tipped a significant wink to Henri.
The sergeant, having obtained positive assurance that no man unaccounted for had either boarded or left the transport from start to finish of its passage, agreed to the proposal of Captain Walki to immediately return to Warsaw, and there frame a new course of action.
With clearing sky and no countering winds, the young pilots made the most of the remaining hours of daylight, and there was safe landing in Warsaw while the night was yet young.
Strogoff’s reception at police headquarters was not such as rejoiced his soul—the chief had a piece of news for him that had stunning effect.
The regular master and crew of the collier, No. 49 in the shipping record, the very vessel upon which the sergeant had been hoodwinked, were even now still in the slow recovery stage from drugging. Only the night before the whole seven, captain, mate, engineer and deck men, had been found deep asleep in a dinghy, drifting about the harbor.
“You seem to be losing your grip, Strogoff,” snapped the chief in that steely voice of his.
The sergeant hung his head for a minute, and then, advancing, looked his chief straight in the eyes.
“For every inch I have gained in unearthing the spy den in our midst, sir, I have risked again and again that precious possession called life, and while I may have proved for the once a dull blade against overly keen ones, it is no sign that I am through.”
“Well, well, Strogoff,” hedged the chief, “they have had a fall out of you; that cannot be denied, but, perhaps, after all, you are not through. The credit of locating the nest is still yours, and you shall have a free hand to complete the work.”