The American Intelligence chief gave an emphatic shake of his head.
"No, not that alone," he said. "My agent stated that he was dead certain that he had been followed in Moscow. And that he is being followed right here in London. True, he's taken all kinds of measures to trip up whoever has been shadowing him. But the lad seems to be very clever. My agent can smell him, you might say. He can even feel eyes watching him. But he hasn't yet been able to get a look at this so-called shadow of his. And you can add to that, sir, eh?"
As Colonel Welsh spoke the last he turned and nodded at Air Vice-Marshal Leman. The R.A.F. officer nodded gravely, and the corners of his mouth tightened slightly.
"Quite!" he grunted, and looked at the two youthful air aces. "The blasted thing is the most incredible mess I've ever bumped up against. Truly fantastic. You'll be sure I've gone balmy when you hear this, but it is the absolute truth. Agent Jones has also been followed ever since he returned! What's more, his flat over on Regent Street has been entered and thoroughly searched at least twice, to his knowledge. And once—though he can't say for sure—a half-hearted attempt to kidnap him was made. At least, he was grabbed during a blackout, and he received a blow on the head that didn't quite stun him. Of course, it might just have been one of those countless blackout accidents. He may have bumped into a couple of skitterish chaps, and they may have got a little bit out of hand. When the blow didn't stun him, and he wrenched himself free, the two other chaps had disappeared. So there's no way of telling whether it was an accident or the real thing."
"But it must have been an accident!" Dawson spoke up with a frown. "And after what Jones went through, maybe his imagination is playing him tricks. I mean, maybe he just thinks that he's being followed, and thinks that his place was searched. I—"
Dawson cut himself off short, and suddenly felt like kicking himself. A funny look had leaped into Air Vice-Marshal Leman's eyes. And there was also a funny expression on Colonel Welsh's face. Dawson had the instant belief that he had spoken out of turn and put his foot into it.
"You don't agree, sir?" he asked the R.A.F. officer lamely.
The funny light faded from the other's eyes, and he shook his head.
"No, I don't agree; Dawson," he said quietly. "True, I realize that it seems silly to think that the Gestapo got wind of Agent Jones, or Nikolsk, or Colonel Welsh's agent. The whole thing covers a period of about three years, but—well, I have to give credit to Himmler's gang of murderers for one thing, at least. They never forget anything. And they never give up the hunt. How they found out about Ivan Nikolsk, and his connection with Agent Jones, and his connection with the Colonel's agent, are three things we'll probably never learn. But the fact remains that the Gestapo has pulled many things out of thin air in times gone by. It is one of the smoothest working and one of the cleverest organizations in the history of man. So we would be plain blasted fools to brush any thought aside as being impossible of accomplishment. No, far better for us to assume that the Gestapo has wind of what's up, and to make our own plans accordingly."
"Check and double check on that, sir," Dawson said respectfully. "And with your permission, I'd like to withdraw that crazy remark I just made."