"Here we are: Folkestone to Boulogne, 4.10. It’s now 3.35," said Burton, looking at his watch. "I can easily get to Folkestone in half an hour or less--possibly intercept the beggars if they don’t know the road: in any case be in time to put the police on before the boat starts. You’ll come, Pickles?" "Well, no. I strained a muscle or two in scuffling with those gentlemen--and I’ve had nothing but newspaper since eight o’clock. By the way, you may as well take the only clue we have--this scrap of pulp. It is French, as you see. And, Teddy, don’t get into hot water on my account. The resources of civilisation--as expressed in high explosives--are not exhausted." Burton stuffed the newspaper into his pocket, and in three minutes was already well on the way to Folkestone. Micklewright watched the flying-boat until it was lost to sight; then, pressing his hand to his aching side, he returned slowly to the house. The distance from the Luddenham Marshes to Folkestone is about twenty-five miles as the crow flies, and Burton had made the flight once in his flying-boat. Consequently, he was at no loss in setting his course. A brisk south-west wind was blowing, but it very little retarded his speed, so that he felt pretty sure of reaching the harbour by four o’clock. Keeping at an altitude of only a few hundred feet, he was able to pick up the well-known landmarks: Hogben’s Hill, the Stour, the series of woods lying between that river and the Elham valley railway line; and just before four he alighted on the sea leeward of the pier, within a few yards of the steamer. A small boat took him ashore. He avoided the crowd of holiday makers who had already gathered to watch him, and making straight for the pier, accosted a police inspector. "Have you seen three men ride up on motor cycles, inspector?" he asked. "No, sir, I can’t say I have." "Three foreigners, one a tall big fellow?" "Plenty of foreigners have gone on board, sir. Is anything wrong?" "Yes, they’ve assaulted and robbed a friend of mine--you may know his name: Dr. Bertram Micklewright, the inventor. They’ve stolen Government property, and it’s of the utmost importance to prevent their crossing the Channel." "Where did this take place, sir, and at what time?" "At Luddenham Marshes beyond Faversham, just before three o’clock." "They’d hardly have got here, would they? They’d have to come through Canterbury, between thirty and forty miles, and with speed limits here and there they’d only just about do it." "I’ll wait here, then. You’ll arrest them if they come?" "That’s a bit irregular, sir," said the inspector, rubbing his chin. "You saw them do the job?" "Well, no, I didn’t." "Then you can’t be sure of ’em?" "I’m afraid I can’t, but there wouldn’t be two sets of foreigners on motor cycles. You could detain them on suspicion, couldn’t you?" "I might, if you would take the responsibility." "Willingly. I’ll keep a look-out then."