This was the man Foyle had now called in. He stood, with stooping shoulders, nervously twisting his shabby hat, apparently ill at ease. His nervousness dropped from him like a garment, however, when he spoke. Foyle made clear to him the purport of the excursion they were to embark on. "Very good, sir," he said. "If you think the man you want is on the river, we will find him. I guess, as you say, he's got a job as a watchman. He's probably had to get somebody to buy a barge, for they don't give these jobs without some kind of reference." "A reference could easily have been forged. But that doesn't matter. How soon can you get your men together?" "An hour,--perhaps two. They're scattered all over the place. I sent out to fetch 'em before I left Wapping." "Three or four will be enough. With Green and yourself and myself we should be able to tackle anything. Have a launch and a motor-boat at Westminster Bridge Pier in a couple of hours' time. If you can borrow them off some one, so that they don't look like police craft, so much the better." "I can do it, sir." "Good. In two hours' time, then." And Heldon Foyle turned away, dismissing the subject from his mind. Green had gone upstairs to find how Grant of the Finger-print Department had progressed in his scrutiny of the finger-prints on the advertisement. He found his specialist colleague with a big enlargement of the paper on which the advertisement had been written mounted on paste-board, and propped up in front of him, side by side with an enlargement of the prints found on the dagger. "Any luck?" asked Green. Grant shifted his magnifying glass to another angle and grunted. "Can't tell yet," he said irritably. "I've only just started. Go away." "Sorry I spoke, old chap," said the other. "Don't shoot; I'm going." Grant rested his chin on one elbow and stared sourly at the intruder. "Great heavens!" he said. "Isn't it enough to have two of my men ill when there are four hundred prints to classify, to have three newspaper reporters and a party of American sociological researchers down on me in one day, without----" But Green had fled to the more tranquil quarters on the first floor. "Mr. Foyle asking for you, sir," said the clerk. He pulled open the door of the superintendent's room. Foyle had got his hat and coat on. "Blake's wired that the woman has taken a ticket for Liverpool," he said. "He's gone on the same train. Now that's settled, let's see if we can't hurry Wrington up." CHAPTER XXXII In the corner of the first-class carriage farthest away from the platform, the Princess Petrovska sat with her hands on her lap and a rug round her knees, glancing idly from under her long eyelashes at the people thronging the Euston departure platform. Her eyes rested incuriously now and again upon a couple of men who stood in conversation by a pile of luggage some distance away, but within eyeshot of the compartment.