His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a maid with a telegram.
"No answer," said Entwistle briefly.
The wire was from the stationmaster at Carlisle. No R.A.F. railway warrant bearing the number E99109 had been given up at Carlisle.
"That is quite what I expected," thought the Secret Service agent. "The warrant was a forged one, and Carlisle was a bit of bluff. He's probably lying low in Edinburgh. Suppose it's not much use trying to pick up the trail there now? Yet—H'm! I'll risk it."
He took an up-to-date time-table from a shelf. Experience had taught him to be particularly careful as far as the times of departure of trains were concerned.
"H'm this will do. Arrive Waverley Station at so-and-so. Yes, that will do."
In ten minutes Entwistle had made all necessary preparations, and with a small hand-bag as his total luggage was walking briskly to the station.
It was not until the train stopped at Carlisle that he was fortunate enough to take a corner seat. Already he had scanned The Times and The Scotsman those hubs of the newspaper worlds north and south of the Tweed. The rest of the occupants of the compartment still retained that insular reserve that has been partly broken down since the memorable August 1914, so Entwistle amused himself by admiring the scenery as the train ascended picturesque Liddisdale. Many a time had Entwistle travelled north by this route, but the beauties of the Lowlands as viewed from the North British Railway never palled.
As the train approached Galashiels it slowed down rapidly, coming to a standstill just outside the station. It was an unusual occurrence, for the express was supposed to make a non-stop run from Carlisle to Edinburgh. Carriage windows were opened and passengers thrust their heads out to ascertain the cause of the delay.
"A truck with a lot of luggage has fallen off the platform on to the line," remarked one of the passengers. "They've removed it now."