“How did you know that I knew Barakoff?” he asked.
Instantly Dick was keenly on the alert. He had no idea that Fedoroff had been associated with the notorious criminal; his appeal to Fedoroff had been a chance shot. Evidently he had stumbled on a matter of importance. But he was quick to take advantage of his good luck.
“Never mind how,” he said. “I do know, and that’s enough. You have got to tell me. I believe Barakoff is at the bottom of the trouble in England. I know he is there, and I want to know where he is and how he got there.”
The Russian’s agitation increased.
“You must not ask me; I cannot tell you,” he gasped.
“Then a few words from me in a certain quarter—not the police,” Dick suggested.
The Russian collapsed.
“No, no, I will tell you,” he moaned. “He is in England, but I don’t know where. He flew over.”
“Flew over!” echoed Dick in utter amazement. “Nonsense, he couldn’t have got in that way. Every aerodrome in England has been watched for months.”
“But he did,” the Russian asserted. “He has his own aeroplane. It makes no noise, and it goes straight up and down.”