“And tall?”
“Yes; tall enough.”
“Dismal-looking?”
“They were all that.”
“Did you see which way he went?”
“No; but I heard him ask the mate the way to the Northern Counties Railway; so I guess he’s for the Derry line.”
It was a sorry clue; but the only one. I was scarcely awake; and, after my night of tragedy, was hardly in a position to resume the hue and cry. Yet anything was preferable to going back to sea.
So I took a car for the Northern Counties station. For a wonder I was in time for the train, which, I was told, was due to start in an hour’s time.
I spent that hour first of all in washing, then in breakfasting, finally in telegraphing to my manager—
“Fancy tracked him here rough crossing—will wire again shortly.”