‘No, sir, I’m sorry to say we did not. But I have since made inquiries. No one with a grey beard was seen at either station. At the Great Western Station four persons booked, all third single to Plymouth, but the clerk remembers one of these was a young sailor and the others women. At the South-Western Station two tickets were issued to Exeter, one a first to Major Reading, who lives here, the other a third single to a little, elderly, clean-shaven man. Our men were there within ten minutes of the train’s departure, so that’s how the clerks remembered—between that and there being so few bookings.’ ‘A small, elderly, clean-shaven man, sergeant? Let us go round the Tavistock barbers.’ The sergeant looked up sharply. ‘By Jove! sir, a likely enough ruse,’ he cried. ‘It won’t take long to find out—there are only three.’ They ran back to the little town, and at the first barber’s learned that a small, elderly man with a short grey beard and moustache had called at a few minutes before five, and had had his beard and moustache shaved off. ‘Now to the telegraph office. We’ll have him before long.’ The Inspector sent messages to Plymouth, to Exeter, and to some of the principal stations beyond, explaining that the bearded man of the previous wires had had himself shaved. Then he looked at his watch. ‘Quarter to eight. Can I catch the 7.50? Phone to hold it while I run across.’ He jumped into the car and drove to the South-Western Station. There he caught the train for Exeter with a minute to spare. He leaned back in the corner of a first-class compartment, and slowly drew out and lit a cigar, while he turned over in his mind the next step to be taken. He thought that at all events he should go on to Exeter. The 5.22 from Tavistock, by which Douglas had travelled, reached that city before his wire about the shaving had been sent out. Therefore it was hardly likely that the man would have been detained en route. Tanner, of course, recognised that a freshly shaven chin was unmistakable, but he did not think a village constable would have the sharpness to deduce what Douglas might have done, and act accordingly. But from Exeter in what direction would the quarry head? There seemed two possibilities. Probably he would try either to reach London, or to get abroad. London, as Tanner knew, was perhaps the safest place in the world for a criminal to lie hidden. But many ill-doers had an overwhelming desire to put as great a distance as possible between themselves and the scene of their misdeeds. If Douglas were of this class he would try to get out of the country, and if, as the hotel porter had stated, he spoke like an American, would he not be likely to try to reach the country in which he might most easily pass for a native? There was, of course, no means of knowing, but at least it was clear that the approaches to London as well as the ports should be closely watched.