"Change at Edinburgh," he remarked, as he clipped von Preussen's warrant. "Through train to Carlisle at 7.5."
With the resumption of the journey, the clerical passenger offered von Preussen a copy of an evening paper as a prelude to opening conversation. He was, he informed the spy, travelling from Nedderburn to Hawick, where he was about to take up an Army chaplaincy at Stobs Camp. In return von Preussen told a fairy tale to the effect that he was joining an R.A.F. balloon station near Carlisle and gave some vivid and totally imaginary stories of his adventures in the air. Yet in spite of several attempts to draw the subalterns into the conversation, the hilarious representatives of the "One Star Crush" limited their discourse to anecdotes calculated to bring blushes to the cheeks of the padre.
It was nearly six in the morning when the train reached Edinburgh. Without difficulty von Preussen passed the barrier and emerged into Princes Street. For the rest of the day he remained in seclusion at a small private hotel just behind Edinburgh's main thoroughfare.
He had a nasty shock that evening. The evening papers came out with an announcement that there was a reward of one hundred pounds for information leading to the detection of a certain individual giving the name of George Fennelburt, aged about thirty; height, five feet seven or eight; broadly built, fair featured with blue eyes. Believed to be wearing the uniform of a captain in the Royal Air Force, and last seen in the neighbourhood of Auldhaig.
Von Preussen broke into a gentle perspiration. Furtively he glanced at his companions in the commercial room. They were, fortunately for him, deep in a game of chess.
The spy had registered in the name of Captain Broadstone. That was now, of itself, a decidedly risky proceeding, since, the hue and cry being raised, there would most certainly be a stringent examination of registration forms at all the hotels.
Even in his panic von Preussen was curious. He could form no satisfactory theory on the matter. How was his presence known, since it was reasonable to conjecture that the authorities knew he had gone on the fishing expedition that had been so unpropitious to his temporary companions? Obviously the notice offering a reward for his apprehension had not been issued before his visit to Auldhaig; and since he, with others, was missing and presumed to be drowned, why go to the length of advertising for his arrest? Perchance U 247 had been captured and the British prisoners released. Even in that case none of those knew the true facts. When they were sent below they were under the impression that he, von Preussen, was also a prisoner of war. In the absence of detail the newspaper notice was terrible in its gaunt wording.
"I will have to find a different disguise," he decided. "But how? To purchase civilian clothing would be courting instant suspicion. I cannot get it myself, nor can I trust anyone to obtain it for me. Yet to persist in appearing in this Air Force uniform would be simple madness. It is equally futile to dye my hair and eyebrows. The people here would notice the difference instantly. And if I changed my hotel I would run fresh and possibly greater risks. Himmel! What can I do?"
He glanced suspiciously round the room. The players, deep in their game, paid no attention to anyone or anything else.
"There's one blessing," he soliloquised. "I registered as Broadstone, not Fennelburt. I think I'll go to bed. It's safer."