From what I had seen of the stranger I certainly was not prepossessed. His clothes were rough and half soaked by the rain that had been falling, while it became apparent as we talked that he had landed surreptitiously from a Dutch fishing-boat early that morning and had not dared to show himself. Hence he was half famished. I happened to have a vacuum flask and some sandwiches, and these I divided with him.
A long silence fell between us as with difficulty in keeping myself awake I drove over the two hundred odd miles of wet roads which separated us from London, and just before nine o’clock next morning I left the car in Wardour Street and walked with the stranger to the frowsy house in Providence Court, where to my great surprise Gerald Tracy opened the door. He laughed at my astonishment, but with a gesture indicative of silence, he merely said:
“Hallo, Hargreave! Back all right, eh?”
Then he admitted the Dutchman and closed the door.
Tracy was evidently there to hold consultation with the stranger whose entrance into England was unknown. He would certainly never risk a long stay in that house, for the stout, bald-headed man had, I knew, no wish to come face to face with Benton or any other officer of the C.I.D.
Certainly something sinister and important was intended.
On calling at Half Moon Street, after having breakfasted, I found Duperré there.
“Rayne wants you to go down to the Pavilion Hotel at Folkestone and garage the car there,” he said. “He and I are running a risk in a couple of night’s time—the risk whether Benton identifies us. We both have tickets for the annual dinner of the staff of the Criminal Investigation Department, which is to be held in the Elgin Rooms.”
“And are you actually going?” I asked, much surprised.
“Yes. And our places are close to Benton’s! He’ll never dream that the men he is hunting for everywhere are sitting exactly opposite him as guests of one of his superiors.”