"That's all right, Mr. McTuft, we shall get on very well together. Your job can begin immediately ... Do you see that man over there who is just passing through the stile?"
"The one that looks like a cross between Belshazzar and Judas?" McTuft asked drily.
"Yes, that's the man ... He calls himself Ricardo Ferail, dealer in antiques; you must follow him like his shadow wherever he goes; notice with whom he gets into communication, and report every step he takes to me at the Pacific Hotel before ten this evening at latest."
"Suppose he should leave Seattle, what then?"
"Send me a wire, and go with him."
The next minute McTuft had joined the crowd, rushed through the stile and disappeared in the track of the antiquary. Wallion smiled and followed more leisurely. Outside he encountered Tom; they exchanged cool good-bys with Doctor Corman and the ladies, who were just getting into a motor. Ten paces away Ferail was opening the door of another car. Wallion was startled, for he thought he saw the Doctor and the Greek exchanging a significant though scarcely perceptible nod. The two motors drew out of the station yard; a third followed close upon the one in which Ferail sat. McTuft had begun his task.
Wallion waited a little and looked after them until they disappeared. Was it a fact that Ferail had given a sign to Doctor Corman? He bit his lip.
"Let us drive to the hotel," he said. "We must hold ourselves in readiness. Things may move more quickly than I thought," he said to himself.
"What things?" said Tom, taken aback. But he got no answer beyond an impatient "We shall see."
As it happened, Tom was not in the humor for conversation; he had become so accustomed to Elaine's society that the separation left a great blank; her sweet face and gentle voice occupied his thoughts to such an extent that he felt both happy and miserable. They had been so near each other during the journey, and how was it going to be now?