As hurriedly as possible he outlined the day's happenings from the moment of landing at Polperro.
"Who are these men?" Flora demanded.
"Couple of spies belonging to a crowd that tried to prevent me leaving
London three weeks ago."
"But what do they want?"
Anthony held up the morocco letter case and restored it to his pocket.
"Just this. I've given 'em a pretty good lead all day—played hare and hounds all over Dartmoor best part of the morning but somehow I don't believe I've shaken 'em off."
"Where did you leave the bike?"
"Couple of miles back on the main road. Shoved her in a thicket. Front tyre burst and that settled it. There's a bare hope they may have been kidded into believing I'd gone straight on but it's slender enough. Comberstone knows I have a home hereabouts and they're pretty certain to have watched my tracks on the road. Mother's old bus is going well you say?"
"I can whack her up to about a thirty average," said Flora.
"Thirty, and we've a hundred and fifty to go. Yes, yes—ought to be in
Town by eleven."