Ferail' shot a glance of deadly hate right into Walloon's gray eyes.
"No!" He sputtered out the word as if it had been poison, turned and went away.
* * * * *
The express, with its shining row of Pullman cars, stood ready to depart, and a babel of voices, hurrying steps and creaking barrows, filled the huge station hall. Tom looked anxiously about for Wallion, of whom he had not caught a glimpse since landing. At last he saw him coming along, lost in thought, and Tom, much relieved, called out:
"I thought you had quite disappeared. Where have you been? The ladies and the doctor are already on board waiting for you." He stopped abruptly, for at that moment he saw the Greek antiquary climb up into one of the last carriages. He saw, too, that Wallion was keeping a watchful eye on the man, and said: "What! he, too. Where is that despicable creature going?"
"We shall see," answered Wallion—who was not inclined to tell how he had shadowed Ferail through half New York; and that the man had neither spoken to any one or sent any messages—and he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw his taciturn enemy safely ensconced in the train. "Get in," he said to Tom; "I'll be there in a minute,"—and he hurried off to the telephone.
He rang up the Secret Service Division in New York; the next minute a well-known voice, expressing surprise, answered:
"Hallo! Wallion, how do you do? I've just heard that you came over in the Swedish liner.... What in the world are you doing here—in this town?"
The Chief of the secret police in New York was looked upon as one of the cleverest officials in that city. Wallion had made his personal acquaintance in connection with a big English case, and so could confidently reckon on a very friendly reception.
"I intend to ask you for a little assistance," he said; "I am on my way to Seattle on a very tiresome job. I shall, probably, be able to requisition official help before long, but just now there is an important link missing in the chain of evidence."