den or Leer would still have enabled me to catch
the said express at Rheine. These alternatives had escaped Davies,
and, I surmised, had been suppressed by Boehme, who doubtless did not
want me behind him, free either to double back or to follow him to
Bremen.

The pace, then, was execrable, and there were delays; we were behind
time at Hengelo, thirty minutes late at Apeldoorn; so that I might
well have grown nervous about my connexions at Amsterdam, which were
in some jeopardy. But as I battled out of my lethargy and began to
take account of our position and prospects, quite a different thought
at the outset affected me. Anxiety to reach London was swamped in
reluctance to quit Germany, so that I found myself grudging every
mile that I placed between me and the frontier. It was the old
question of urgency. To-day was the 23rd. The visit to London meant a
minimum absence of forty-eight hours, counting from Amsterdam; that
is to say, that by travelling for two nights and one day, and
devoting the other day to investigating Dollmann's past, it was
humanly possible for me to be back on the Frisian coast on the
evening of the 25th. Yes, I could be at Norden, if that was the
'rendezvous', at 7 p.m. But what a scramble! No margin for delays, no
physical respite. Some pasts take a deal of raking up--other persons
may be affected; men are cautious, they trip you up with red tape; or
the man who knows is out at lunch--a protracted lunch; or in the
country--a protracted week-end. Will you see Mr So-and-so, or leave a
note? Oh! I know those public departments--from the inside! And the
Admiralty! ... I saw myself baffled and racing back the same night to
Germany, with two days wasted, arriving, good for nothing, at Norden,
with no leisure to reconnoitre my ground; to be baffled again there,
probably, for you cannot always count on fogs (as Davies said). Esens
was another clue, and 'to follow Burmer'--there was something in that
notion. But I wanted time, and had I time? How long could Davies
maintain himself at Norderney? Not so very long, from what I
remembered of last night. And was he even safe there? A feverish
dream recurred to me--a dream of Davies in a diving-dress; of a
regrettable hitch in the air-supply--Stop, that was nonsense! ... Let
us be sane. What matter if he had to go? What matter if I took my
time in London? Then with a flood of shame I saw Davies's wistful
face on the quay, heard his grim ejaculation: 'He's ou