“That will just give me time. Meantime I have a man at the gangway, and he’ll spot them if they come along.” There were four large suitcases in the roomy and comfortable stateroom set apart for the Vanes, as well as a number of articles of toilet and apparel which might well represent the first hurried attempt at unpacking. The suitcases were locked, but French soon opened them with his bunch of skeleton keys. And here he got confirmation of his theory that all this journey to Manáos was merely a carefully thought out plan. The cases were empty. Dummy luggage, brought in to bolster up the trick. But there was nothing in the cabin to give any hint of where the fugitives had really gone. “I needn’t wait for them to turn up,” French said grimly. “Those empty suitcases give the show away.” “I’m afraid it looks like it,” the purser admitted. “Sorry we didn’t know about it sooner.” “Can’t be helped. That’s what we Scotland Yard men are up against all the time.” He bid the friendly purser good-day and slowly left the ship. But he did not leave the wharf. Though he thought it unlikely, there was still just a chance that the quarry had missed the ship and were following on. He would make sure. But though he waited until the _Enoch_ cast off and swung her bows round towards the open sea, there was no sign of any late arrivals, and when he had once seen the liner under way he turned disconsolately to his satellite. “It’s all U P, Carter, as far as this trip is concerned. They’ve given us the slip about proper. Goodness only knows where they are by this time; perhaps half-way to the States. Let’s find a telegraph office and report to Headquarters.” A few minutes later French had sent a long wire to his chief at the Yard. Then at a loose end, he turned to Sergeant Carter. “Well, Carter, what shall we do with ourselves now? Here’s ten o’clock and we can’t get back until the evening. We have the whole day to play round in.” Except that he believed he could do with a bit more breakfast, the Sergeant’s ideas were nebulous. French laughed at him. “It’s what I was thinking myself,” he admitted, “but it’s a bad time. These folk over here have no notion of what a good breakfast means, and it’s a bit early for their lunch. However, we’ll see what we can do.” They went into a small restaurant and asked for coffee and ham and eggs. This proving too much for the waiter, the proprietor was summoned. He had a little English and at last understood. “But yes, messieurs,” he cried, waving his hands. “The ham, the eggs, the omelette; is it not so?” He bowed low. “Immediately, messieurs. Will messieurs be pleased to be seated.”