Then suddenly I had an inspiration.
“Where is Scudder’s book?” I cried to Sir Walter. “Quick, man, I remember something in it.”
He unlocked the door of a bureau and gave it to me.
I found the place. “Thirty-nine steps,” I read, and again, “Thirty-nine steps—I counted them—High tide, 10.17 p.m.”
The Admiralty man was looking at me as if he thought I had gone mad.
“Don’t you see it’s a clue,” I shouted. “Scudder knew where these fellows laired—he knew where they were going to leave the country, though he kept the name to himself. Tomorrow was the day, and it was some place where high tide was at 10.17.”
“They may have gone tonight,” someone said.
“Not they. They have their own snug secret way, and they won’t be hurried. I know Germans, and they are mad about working to a plan. Where the devil can I get a book of Tide Tables?”
Whittaker brightened up. “It’s a chance,” he said. “Let’s go over to the Admiralty.”
We got into two of the waiting motor-cars—all but Sir Walter, who went off to Scotland Yard—to “mobilize MacGillivray”, so he said.