stall. He gave
one doubtful look at them, then hurried into an adjacent telephone
box. He dared not waste time in trying to get hold of Tuppence. In all
probability she was still in the neighbourhood of South Audley Mansions.
But there remained another ally. He rang up the Ritz and asked for
Julius Hersheimmer. There was a click and a buzz. Oh, if only the young
American was in his room! There was another click, and then "Hello" in
unmistakable accents came over the wire.

"That you, Hersheimmer? Beresford speaking. I'm at Waterloo. I've
followed Whittington and another man here. No time to explain.
Whittington's off to Bournemouth by the 3.30. Can you get there by
then?"

The reply was reassuring.

"Sure. I'll hustle."

The telephone rang off. Tommy put back the receiver with a sigh of
relief. His opinion of Julius's power of hustling was high. He felt
instinctively that the American would arrive in time.

Whittington and Boris were still where he had left them. If Boris
remained to see his friend off, all was well. Then Tommy fingered his
pocket thoughtfully. In spite of the carte blanche assured to him, he
had not yet acquired the habit of going about with any considerable sum
of money on him. The taking of the first-class ticket to Bournemouth
had left him with only a few shillings in his pocket. It was to be hoped
that Julius would arrive better provided.

In the meantime, the minutes were creeping by: 3.15, 3.20, 3.25, 3.27.
Supposing Julius did not get there in time. 3.29.... Doors were banging.
Tommy felt cold waves of despair pass over him. Then a hand fell on his
shoulder.

"Here I am, son. Your British traffic beats description! Put me wise to
the crooks right away."

"That's Whittington--there, getting in now, that big dark man. The other
is the foreign chap he's talking to."

"I'm on to them. Which of the two is my bird?"

Tommy had thought out this question.

"Got any money with you?"

Julius shook his head, and Tommy's face fell.

"I guess I haven't more than three or four hundred dollars with me at
the moment," explained the American.

Tommy gave a faint whoop of relief.

"Oh, Lord, you millionaires! You don't talk the same language! Climb
aboard the lugger. Here's your ticket. Whittington's your man."

"Me for Whittington!" said Julius darkly. The train was just starting
as he swung himself aboard. "So long, Tommy." The train slid out of the
station.

Tommy drew a deep breath. Th