After a time he grew wearied by the monotony of the flat lands, but the scenery became more interesting as they crossed the hills between Poitiers and Angoulême. Bordeaux was passed about seven o’clock, and as darkness fell they were traversing the dreary, desolate, sandy wastes and pine forests of Les Landes. They reached Irun just before midnight, changing there into the broad-gauge carriages of Spain, and waiting for customs examination. The moon rose as they passed through the rocky country north of Burgos, and it was daylight when they reached the latter town. Then on again through Valladolid to Medina, where the Madrid portion of the train branched off; through Salamanca of legendary fame, but now, for Spain, a considerable railway centre, then into Portugal, where the train hurtled along at considerably over thirty miles an hour. Finally, with brakes grinding, they descended the steep incline tunnelled beneath one of the seven hills on which Lisbon is built, and pulled up, twenty minutes late, in the Rocio Station. When Tanner emerged into the brilliantly lighted streets and gazed down the splendid vista of the Avenida da Liberdade, he literally held his breath with amazement. The Portuguese he had always looked on as a lazy, good-for-nothing set, but this great new boulevard made him reconsider his opinion. He booked a room in the Avenida Palace Hotel, and then, crossing the Dom Pedro Square, walked down to the steamboat offices in the Rua da Alfandega. The office was open—every one seemed to be on the move all night—and one of the clerks spoke English. The steamer, it appeared, was due about half-past six. Tanner took the clerk into his confidence, and the latter made arrangements for the Inspector to get aboard with the first boat from the shore. At six o’clock Tanner was down on the Praça do Commercio, admiring in the brilliant sunlight the splendid river which flowed before him, and the charming setting of the town on its range of hills. In the river lay several steamers, some quite large, and all tugging at their anchors with their bows upstream. Down seawards, but inside the comparatively narrow mouth of the Tagus, a grey, two-funnelled boat was coming slowly up—the _Vaal River_—with, as Tanner hoped, William Douglas on board. His friend the clerk arriving a moment later, the two men embarked on a motor launch. As the _Vaal River_’s anchor fell with a mighty splash, they sheered alongside and made fast. When the port authorities had gone aboard, Tanner was allowed to follow. He went straight to the captain, who was still on the bridge, and showing him his card, explained his business. ‘And so Mr Walter Donnell’s wanted for murder,’ the captain commented. ‘Guess he’s aboard all right. I thought he had something on his mind. See the chief steward and you’ll find him. What are you going to do with him?’ ‘Take him back to London.’ ‘Of course. But how?’ ‘I don’t know. What would you advise?’