A motor-car loomed suddenly through the fog, coming from the direction of Northumberland Avenue, and overtook them. A man leant out of the window as the car swept abreast. His face was masked and his actions were deliberate.
"Look out!" cried the editor and clutched the Frenchman's arm.
The pistol that was levelled from the window of the car cracked twice and T. B. felt the wind of the bullets as they passed his head.
Then the car disappeared into the mist, leaving behind three men, one half fainting with terror, one immensely pleased with the novel sensation--our editor, you may be sure--and one using language unbecoming to an Assistant-Commissioner of Police.
The house in St. John Street had been raided. In a little room on the top floor there was evidence that an instrument of some considerable size had been hastily dismantled. Broken ends of wire were hanging from the wall, and one other room on the same floor was packed with storage batteries. Pursuing their investigations, the detectives ascended to the roof through a trap door. Here was the flagstaff and the arrangement for hoisting the wires. Apparently, night was usually chosen for the reception and despatch of messages. By night, the taut strands of wire would not attract attention. Only in cases of extremest urgency were they employed in daylight.
Count Poltavo was gone--vanished, in spite of the fact that every railway terminus in London had been watched, every ocean-going passenger scrutinised.
Van Ingen had been given two days to get the "book"; this code which the unfortunate Hyatt had deciphered to his undoing. Moss had said Hyatt's sister had it, but the country had been searched from end to end for Hyatt's sister. It had not been difficult to trace her. Van Ingen, after half-an-hour's search in Falmouth, had discovered her abode, but the girl was not there.
"She left for London yesterday," he was informed.
From that moment Miss Hyatt had disappeared.
A telegram had reached her on the very day of Hyatt's death. It said "Come."
There was no name, no address. The telegram had been handed in at St. Martin's-le-Grand; unearthed, it was found to be in typewritten characters, and the address at its back a fictitious one.