Then the Aasvogel's visitor came forth alone, and in haste, and turned in the direction of Liverpool Street. Shortly afterwards he boarded a King's Cross bus, mounting to the top. Teddy took a seat inside, still calling himself names, yet unable to abandon the absurd chase.
At King's Cross the man, along with a dozen passengers, got out and made for the main-line station. Teddy followed at a discreet distance till within the booking hall, when he put on speed and contrived to be close to his quarry as the latter stopped at a ticket window—first class—to Teddy's amaze. He heard him book "return Glasgow."
Now the Glasgow portion of this particular night train, usually an exceedingly long one, is next to the engine. Perhaps that is why the Great Northern Company has kindly placed a little refreshment saloon towards the extremity of the platform. The traveller, after a glance at the train, entered the saloon. The weary sleuth resisted the desire for a drink and proceeded to stroll up and down the Glasgow portion. Five minutes before the train was due to start the traveller reappeared wiping his mouth, and got into a vacant compartment. He placed his suit case on a seat and went out into the corridor.
"Well," Teddy said to himself, "that jolly well ends it. The old story—suspect a Johnny because he doesn't look a handsome gentleman! Serves me right!" All the same, he lingered, a few paces from the carriage. Four minutes passed and the traveller was still absent. Thirty seconds left … fifteen … five … the starting signal … the first, almost imperceptible movement of the prodigious train.
Just then the traveller reappeared in the compartment, picked up the suit case, sat down and opened at. But—Teddy sprang forward open-mouthed—it wasn't the same man! The train was gathering speed. Teddy ran alongside and stared in. The traveller glanced over his shoulder, just as that man had done on the office landing, then turned away. But again Teddy had caught a glimpse of a profile including an oddly shaped nose. Why, good Lord! it was the same man—only the beggar had lost his eyeglasses and moustache! … Our sleuth had made a discovery, indeed, but how on earth was it going to profit him? Disregarding expense—no new failing on his part, to be sure—he took a cab back to Manchester House.
The Aasvogel office was in darkness. The surmise might easily be wrong, Teddy admitted to himself, yet it did look confoundedly as though Bullard had returned to the City that night with the particular object of meeting the quick-change gentleman now on his way to Glasgow. At all events the affair was interesting enough to spoil another night's rest for Teddy France.
Two mornings later Bullard received the following brief note, which was undated and unsigned, in an envelope postmarked Glasgow:
"No one on premises at night. Probably tomorrow night."
Bullard informed the chief clerk and telephoned to Lancaster that he was leaving for Paris by the night train. Apparently he reached there safely, for next morning the office received a telegram relating to some company business, not, perhaps, of the first importance, handed in at the Gare du Nord office and signed Bullard. And Teddy, calling at the Lancasters' house in the evening, just to obtain a glimpse of his beloved, who alas! was with a dinner and theatre party, learned from Mr. Lancaster, who was always glad to see the young man, that Mr. Bullard had run over to Paris. Which was naturally rather astounding news to Teddy, whose own eyes had seen Mr. Bullard enter the Glasgow sleeping car at Euston, about twenty-four hours earlier.