Now Swallow was there
alone--and he had just before that met his man scooting round to see if
there was a rear exit from the Fragonard, and he hadn't returned.
Swallow, of course, couldn't wait--every minute was precious. He
followed the Squire to King's Cross, and heard him book for
Northborough."
"Northborough!" exclaimed Copplestone, in surprise. "Not Norcaster? Ah,
well, Northborough's a port, too, isn't it?"
"Northborough is as near to Scarhaven as Norcaster is, you know," said
Gilling. "To Northborough he booked, anyhow. So did Swallow, who, now
that he'd got him, was going to follow him to the North Pole, if need be.
The train was just starting--Swallow had no time to communicate with me.
Also, the train didn't stop until it reached Grantham. There he sent me a
wire, saying he was on the track of his man. Well, they went on to
Northborough, where they arrived late in the evening. There--what is it,
Copplestone," he broke off, seeing signs of a desire to speak on
Copplestone's part.
"You're talking of the very same afternoon and evening that I came
down--four evenings ago," said Copplestone. "My train was the four
o'clock--I got to Norcaster at ten--surely they didn't come on the
same train!"
"I feel sure they did, but anyhow, these trains to the North are usually
very long ones, and you were probably in a different part," replied
Gilling.
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