"I never dreamed, of course, of the case being over," he added. "Tell me something about it, old son: it's better than sitting there thinking. We're doing all we can, you know, Jack."
I was glad of the chance he gave me. Anything was preferable to brooding over the thought of Mercia in the hands of Sangatte; so without waiting I plunged into the story of Milford's dramatic appearance in court and its amazing developments.
Through Romford and Brentwood the car sped on: the driver, who knew something of the extreme urgency of our journey, letting out the powerful engine to the full extent he dared. Outside the latter town, we turned off due east, and, free of the traffic, hurried on still faster through the miles of flat Essex corn-land that separated us from our goal.
I repeated to Billy the whole of Milford's story, as nearly as I could remember it. With his numerous questions and interruptions it took a long time—indeed, before I had finished we had already reached the straggling estuary of the Crouch, and the grey tower of Burnham Church was plainly visible in the distance. I shall never forget the fever of anger and impatience that seemed to scorch my heart as the driver turned to point it out.
Every minute of that last three miles the torture of suspense became worse. I could see Billy felt the strain almost as much as I did. His mouth set more grimly than ever, and we sat there side by side staring out silently towards our approaching goal.
At last we were in the village. Scarcely slackening our pace, we hurried up the long main street with its small, untidy-looking grey houses, and turning off sharp to the right swung round on to the quay. Regardless of his tyres, the driver pulled up with a jerk, and in a moment Billy and I were out of the car.
An old longshoreman in a blue jersey, who had been leaning over the railings staring down at the tossing collection of boats and yachts below, looked round with slow surprise at our abrupt appearance.
I walked towards him, followed by Billy.
"Can you tell me," I asked quietly, "whether the Seagull has sailed?"
He took out a small section of black clay pipe which he had been holding upside down in his mouth, and spat thoughtfully on the ground.