twelve men
were to meet him on the shore at the back of the signal cabin near the
Ferriby depot, with a boat and a grappling ladder for getting aboard the
Girondin. This done, Willis hurried back to the platform, reaching
it just as the 7.56 came in. He watched Archer get on board, and then
himself entered another compartment.

At Selby the quarry alighted, and passed along the platform towards the
booking-office. Willis's police training instantly revealed to him the
plain-clothes man, and him he instructed to follow Archer and learn to
what station he booked. In a few moments the man returned to say it was
Ferriby. Then calling up the two constables, the four officers followed
the distiller into the first-class waiting room, where he had taken
cover. Willis walked up to him.

"Archibald Charles Archer," he said impressively, "I am Inspector
Willis of Scotland Yard. I have a warrant for your arrest on a charge of
murdering Francis Coburn in a cab in London on September 12 last. I have
to warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence."

For a moment the distiller seemed so overwhelmed with surprise as to be
incapable of movement, and before he could pull himself together there
was a click, and handcuffs gleamed on his wrists. Then his eyes blazed,
and with the inarticulate roar of a wild beast he flung himself wildly
on Willis, and, manacled as he was, attempted to seize his throat. But
the struggle was brief. In a moment the three other men had torn him
off, and he stood glaring at his adversary, and uttering savage curses.

"You look after him, sergeant," Willis directed a little breathlessly,
as he tried to straighten the remnants of his tie. "I must go on to
Ferriby."

A powerful car was waiting outside the station, and Willis, jumping
in, offered the driver an extra pound if he was at Ferriby within fifty
minutes. He reckoned the distance was about twenty-five miles, and he
thought he should maintain at average of thirty miles an hour.

The night was intensely dark as the big vehicle swung out of Selby,
eastward bound. A slight wind blew in from the east, bearing a damp,
searching cold, more trying than frost. Willis, who had left his coat in
the London train, shivered as he drew the one rug the vehicle contained
up round his shoulders.

The road to Howden was broad and smooth, and the car made fine going.
But at Howden the main road turned north, and speed on the comparatively
inferior cross roads