“Blythe must intend to join Zemba,” decided Delka. “Since the documents have already been sent to France, Blythe is carrying nothing of value. His arrest will not restore the stolen plans; nor will his freedom work against us.
“Much might be gained by not arresting Blythe. It would be excellent to follow him to Paris, for that would produce a direct trail to Zemba. On the contrary, it would introduce complications.”
“With the French police?” inquired Lord Bixley.
“Yes,” answered Delka, with a brisk nod. “They would wish to introduce their own methods. By the time that we had disposed of the red tape, Blythe would have gained suspicion. Our final move would probably be no more than the arrest of Blythe in Paris.
“We can accomplish quite as much by apprehending him before he leaves England. At the same time, we should take into consequence the man’s own mental reactions. Is Blythe a nervous sort?”
“Quite,” replied Lord Bixley. “He has cheek; but he is high-strung. I fancy that this journey will make him more and more restless until the train reaches Dover.”
“Good!” Delka thumped the table. “Then we shall arrest him there. He cannot leave the Golden Arrow, for it makes no stop during the seventy-seven miles. Picture the man’s dumfoundment when we stop him at the door of his compartment.”
“He will be overwhelmed,” asserted Lord Bixley. “Much more so than if he had been apprehended in London. You have struck a timely thought, inspector. By all means, delay the arrest until the final moment. I know the chap’s false bravado. When we confront him, he will weaken.”
DELKA leaned back in his armchair. He smiled as he glanced from the window. The Golden Arrow had breasted the summit at Knockholt, slightly more than eighteen miles from London. Unwearied by its climb, Howard of Effingham was ready for the terrific dash to Dover.
Soon the mighty locomotive would be devouring the distance at better than a mile-a-minute rate. A perfect stretch of trackage lay ahead, straight across the Weald of Kent. The coming portion of the Southern Railway was built for high speed.
“Suppose we order luncheon,” suggested Lord Bixley, catching Delka’s mood. “Your men are watching Willoughby Blythe. He can find no opportunity to escape us.”
“None at all,” agreed Delka. “Your lordship, I can promise you that Blythe will stay aboard this train when we reach Dover.”
There was a prophetic air to Delka’s tone; but the words were more significant than intended. Fate had decreed a surprising finish for the journey of Willoughby Blythe, key man to the notorious Gaspard Zemba.
At the moment of his decision, Eric Delka held the opportunity he wanted. Confident, the Scotland Yard man was holding his important move until time when it would come too late.
CHAPTER II
DEATH DEALS DOUBLE
THE Golden Arrow had reached Folkestone. As it whirled rapidly across the high viaduct above the town, Eric Delka caught his first glimpse of the sea. Seven miles through the warren would bring the train to Dover.
Delka was glancing at his watch when he left the Pullman and walked forward to the second-class carriages. It was twenty-five minutes past twelve.
Eighty-five minutes out of London. Another ten minutes to go. Delka smiled with confidence. He had left Lord Bixley and Thomason expressing their impatience for the finish of the journey; but Delka did not share the mood. He was quite willing to wait for the scheduled time of Blythe’s capture.
The train was following the cliff region above the English Channel when Delka found his two aids in the corridor outside of Willoughby Blythe’s compartment. They had come from their own compartments. Delka drew them toward the end of the corridor.
A dapper, mustached man edged by, coming from another car. Delka saw him enter Blythe’s compartment. The dapper man was the one other passenger who had been in the compartment at the beginning of the journey. He looked like a Frenchman.
“Has Blythe come out at all?” queried Delka.
Negative headshakes. Verbal reply had become suddenly impossible, for the train had roared into blackness at that moment. The Golden Arrow was surging through Shakespeare’s Cliff, to reach the beach along the English Channel.
The roar of the locomotive was terrific, blotting out all other sounds for this car was close behind the powerful engine. Delka and his men stood silent in the feeble glow of the corridor lights.
Then the roar ended. The brilliance of daylight replaced artificial illumination. As the train slackened speed along the line of the beach, Delka gave his final instructions. One man was placed at each end of the corridor. Delka, himself, would cover the station platform.
The train veered sharply to the right, to swing into the Dover Marine Station. Delka saw the dapper Frenchman come from the compartment and stroll past one of the Scotland Yard men.
Delka nodded his approval. There was a chance that Willoughby Blythe might make a struggle. It would be best to trap him alone in the compartment.
THE train rolled to a stop. Delka, with a railway guard beside him, was the first person to reach the platform. The C.I.D. man immediately posted himself at the most important spot.
Blythe could find two ways to leave the train; one, by the corridor, which Delka’s aids were guarding; the other, by the outer door of the compartment direct to the station platform itself. That was the exit which Delka covered.
The Golden Arrow was disgorging passengers. The train had arrived at twenty-five minutes of one, precisely on schedule. Already, a shunting engine had gripped the baggage vans at the rear of the train and was tugging them away, to work them around to the quay. There, the Steamship Canterbury was waiting, with smoke issuing from its single funnel.
Passengers and porters were thronging toward the steamship, to embark immediately for Calais. Twenty minutes was the time allotted for such transfer. Yet, as the platform cleared of people, there was still no sign of Willoughby Blythe.
Delka had been watching the compartment door in a hawklike fashion. He had seen Blythe on the train in London; and would have known the man immediately, for the fellow’s face was long-nosed and weak-chinned — a pasty countenance that could easily be remembered. Nevertheless, Delka watched in vain for such a visage to appear at the compartment door.
Two stragglers joined Delka on the platform: Lord Bixley and the secretary, Thomason. Delka ordered Thomason to go into the car and contact the C.I.D. men in the corridor.
Thomason went in, to return two minutes later. He brought the positive report that no one had come from Blythe’s compartment, by way of the corridor.
“The chap must know that we are watching him,” observed Lord Bixley, to Delka. “Why not enter and apprehend him? The other passengers have reached the steamship. If Blythe offers resistance, it will endanger no one.”
Delka considered. He glanced at his watch; it was nearly ten minutes of one. He looked toward the Canterbury, where cranes were swinging the boxes from the baggage wagons down into the steamship’s hold. All other passengers had reached the vessel.
Delka decided to act. He spoke to a railway guard who was standing by, and ordered the man to open the outer door of Blythe’s compartment.
The guard obeyed. At the same time, Delka tugged a revolver from his pocket and mounted the step beside the compartment. He expected that Blythe would flee when accosted; but if the fugitive dashed through the corridor he would be immediately trapped by the two C.I.D. men. Delka wanted Blythe to attempt flight.
The door swung open and Delka thrust himself forward. As he did, a huddled figure came tumbling directly against him. Delka spun about, ready with his revolver as a man’s form sprawled in a crazy dive, across the step, then headlong to the platform. As Delka bounded down beside the rolling form, it turned over. Delka saw the face of Willoughby Blythe.