‘Yes, I’m Tanner,’ he said, when the connection was made. ‘The Ponson Case. That man Douglas I’m after got away on the _Vaal River_. Sailed from Southampton at four this morning. First call Lisbon. I must be there to meet him. It can only be done if I leave Paris at 12.17 today. None of the ordinary services would get me over in time. Can you arrange with the Air people to give me a plane?’ He was told to wait, and at six o’clock the reply came. ‘The Deputy Chief has arranged for a fast plane to leave the drome near Petersfield as soon as possible. Get there at once and report to Major Forbes. Call at Hendon and we shall have French and Portuguese money for you, as well as the extradition warrant.’ Tanner was not long in reaching Petersfield, but there was a delay at the aerodrome, and he chafed impatiently as the precious minutes slipped away. It was not indeed till a little after seven that the actual start was made. The morning was clear at first, and they made good speed to Hendon, alighting and picking up the money and papers. But as they reached the coast they ran into a haze, which soon developed into a thick fog. The pilot did his best, going straight on by dead reckoning, but when in another hour they got through it, they found they had gone a good deal out of their course in a northerly direction. Tanner swore bitterly, for he found his margin of time was growing less and less. Finally they picked up the main line of the Northern Railway, and following it fairly closely, at last saw creeping up over the horizon the buildings of the capital. ‘Down in ten minutes,’ the pilot roared, and Tanner nodded as he looked his watch. It was eleven minutes to twelve, and the Inspector recognised he would have to run for it. Soon they were above Argenteuil and crossing the great loops of the Seine, with St Cloud on the right and the vast city stretching away to the left. Now they were planing rapidly down, till with a gentle shock they alighted at the edge of the flying ground at Issy. Tanner leaped out and ran to the entrance as fast as the stiffness of his legs would allow. As he did so twelve sounded from the clock towers. He had seventeen minutes, the Gare Quai d’Orsay was two miles away, and there were no taxis within sight. There was but one thing to do and Tanner did it. Some private cars were drawn up on the road just outside the flying ground. Tanner ran his eye hastily over them and selected one, a racing car from which a sporting looking man was just descending. The detective hailed him. ‘Sir,’ he panted, ‘I have crossed by aeroplane from England to catch the 12.17 at the Gare Quai d’Orsay, and now I can’t get a taxi. If you would run me till we meet a taxi, I just couldn’t say how grateful I’d be.’ The man looked puzzled. ‘I not speak Engleesh,’ he said slowly, then adding interrogatively, ‘You weesh—aller, aller—go—á la Gare Quai d’Orsay?’