With much hissing of steam the night mail train drew up at the platform. The handful of travellers hurried along, peering into the dimly-lit compartments in the hope of finding vacant seats. Von Preussen happened to secure one in the company of five naval officers who were already "bored stiff" with their tedious journey from a far northern base. The spy soon discovered that there was precious little information to be picked up from them. At Perth the spy changed compartments. He now found himself in the company of four rather lively subalterns and the clergyman he had noticed on Nedderburn Junction platform. The latter, deep in the pages of the _Church Times_, took no notice of the new arrival. "Tickets, please!" A gigantic inspector examined the tickets and vouchers of the occupants of the compartment. "Change at Edinburgh," he remarked, as he clipped von Preussen's warrant. "Through train to Carlisle at 7.5." With the resumption of the journey, the clerical passenger offered von Preussen a copy of an evening paper as a prelude to opening conversation. He was, he informed the spy, travelling from Nedderburn to Hawick, where he was about to take up an Army chaplaincy at Stobs Camp. In return von Preussen told a fairy tale to the effect that he was joining an R.A.F. balloon station near Carlisle and gave some vivid and totally imaginary stories of his adventures in the air. Yet in spite of several attempts to draw the subalterns into the conversation, the hilarious representatives of the "One Star Crush" limited their discourse to anecdotes calculated to bring blushes to the cheeks of the padre. It was nearly six in the morning when the train reached Edinburgh. Without difficulty von Preussen passed the barrier and emerged into Princes Street. For the rest of the day he remained in seclusion at a small private hotel just behind Edinburgh's main thoroughfare. He had a nasty shock that evening. The evening papers came out with an announcement that there was a reward of one hundred pounds for information leading to the detection of a certain individual giving the name of George Fennelburt, aged about thirty; height, five feet seven or eight; broadly built, fair featured with blue eyes. Believed to be wearing the uniform of a captain in the Royal Air Force, and last seen in the neighbourhood of Auldhaig. Von Preussen broke into a gentle perspiration. Furtively he glanced at his companions in the commercial room. They were, fortunately for him, deep in a game of chess. The spy had registered in the name of Captain Broadstone. That was now, of itself, a decidedly risky proceeding, since, the hue and cry being raised, there would most certainly be a stringent examination of registration forms at all the hotels.