None of the crowd showed any inclination to obey the peremptory request of the individual who, Broadmayne subsequently discovered, was one of the Spanish Consulate staff. It was not on account of the powerful physique of the three fugitives that the crowd made way. Perhaps they guessed that the hurrying trio were in some way connected with the pirate crew who had held up the Spanish tanker. At all events, the sympathies of the onlookers were with the fugitives, not the foreigners. Had Broadmayne and his companions wished, they could have got clean away.
But this was not their intention. Apart from cutting ridiculous figures by careering through the streets in garments that, like parallel lines, would never meet on their bulky frames, Broadmayne and Vyse had no cause for flight or concealment now that they were safely on British soil.
"It's quite all right," shouted the Sub reassuringly. "We are not going to take to our heels. Is there a policeman about? Will some one please fetch a taxi?"
He had no occasion to ask what port they had arrived at. He knew the place well. It was Falmouth. The Mendez Nunez was berthed alongside the quay, almost under the shadow of Pendennis Castle.
A policeman hurried up and produced a notebook.
"What's all this?" he demanded, looking askance at the nondescript pair.
"Pirates! That's what they are!" shouted the consular official from the tanker's gangway.
The policeman put away his notebook and measured the bulk of the two oddly-attired men with his own size. He was a stalwart specimen of the Force, but not to be compared in height and weight with his would-be prisoners.
"In the name of the law!" he exclaimed. "I warn you. Any statement you may make will be used in evidence against you. Now, are you coming quietly?"
"Yes," replied Broadmayne. "In a taxi?"