The Voice in the Fog - Page 91/93

Lord Monckton had not returned to the hotel. Good. More telephoning.

Yes, the great railroad terminals had ten men each. A black-bearded

man with scarred fingers.

Haggerty was really a fine general; he directed his army with

shrewdness and little or no waste. The Jersey side was watched, East

and North Rivers. The big ships Haggerty himself undertook.

From half after nine that night till noon the next day, without sleep

or rest or food, excepting a cup of coffee and a sandwich, which, to a

man of Haggerty's build, wasn't food at all, he searched. Each time he

left the motor-car, the chauffeur fell asleep. Haggerty reasoned in

this wise: There were really but two points of departure for a man in

Mason's position, London or South America. Ten men, vigilant and

keen-eyed, were watching all fruiters and tramps which sailed for the

Caribbean.

It came to the last boat. Haggerty, in each case, had not gone aboard

by way of the passengers' gangplank; not he. He got aboard secretly

and worked his way up from hold to boat-deck. His chance lay in

Mason's curiosity. It would be almost impossible for the man not to

watch for his ancient enemy.

At two minutes to twelve, as the whistle boomed its warning to visitors

to go ashore, Haggerty put his hard-palmed hand on Mason's shoulder.

The man, intent on watching the gangplank, turned quickly, sagged, and

fell back against the rail.

"Come along," said Haggerty, not unkindly.

Mason sighed. "One question. Did Mr. Crawford advise you where to

look for me?"

"No. I found you myself, Mr. Mason; all alone. It was a sporting

proposition; an' you'd have won out if y' hadn't been human like

everybody else, an' watched for me. Come along!"