# The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN
PASSPORTS!
Whoever it was that the apprentice was expecting or looking for, he had failed to see Wedgwood as the long train steamed in, and the detective had to run after him along the crowded platform. At a touch on his shoulder Stainsby started and faced round; an immediate expression of relief on his face convinced Wedgwood that the lad had business for him.
"You got my wire then?" said Stainsby. "I was afraid you mightn't have it in time for this train."
"What wire?" asked Wedgwood. "I've had no wire!"
"Sent you a wire this morning at ten o'clock," answered Stainsby. "To Hunter Street."
"Ah!" said the detective. "But I haven't been at Hunter Street this morning, and they wouldn't know there where I was. But what about?"
Stainsby gave him a look that meant many things.
"They're here!" he replied. "And, for ​two or three hours, safe! I've spotted 'em!"
"You mean"—began Wedgwood.
"Him—and the housekeeper," answered Stainsby. "Both! They're off to New York on the Mauretania. Sails at four o'clock."
Wedgwood glanced at the clock. It was a little after half-past one. He turned Stainsby towards the refreshment room.
"If you're sure they're safe," he said, "come and have a mouthful and a drink—I've had nothing since breakfast. Now," he went on, when they had got into a quiet corner, "tell me while we eat. First, though—I saw you in a taxi yesterday afternoon, near Westminster Bridge. Were you after—them?"
"Her!" answered Stainsby. "Only her! I'll tell you about it. Yesterday afternoon, Gregson said he had to go out to his place in Whitechapel. That would be about two o'clock. He left me in the warehouse, and the housekeeper, of course, was upstairs. About four o'clock when I was at the front of the warehouse talking to a customer, a telegraph boy came up to the side door. I don't know whether she'd been on the look-out for a wire coming—I think she must have been—but anyhow, she'd the door open the instant he knocked and took the wire from him. I heard her say there was no answer, and he went off. A few minutes ​later she came to me and said that she'd had a telegram to say that her mother was very ill and she must be off at once—would I get her a taxi-cab in a quarter of an hour? Then she hurried upstairs. Well, I began to think things—I didn't believe her tale—I felt certain she'd been on the watch for that wire, and that it was from Wraypoole. So I thought I'd keep an eye on her. Now, there's a cab-rank close by the warehouse, and I know some of the taxi drivers on it. I went across and spoke to two of them—gave 'em the office, you know. I arranged with one to come up to the side door in a quarter of an hour to take her; as soon as she'd gone off the other chap was to come up, take me in, and follow the first, see?"
"Good lad!" murmured Wedgwood, who was steadily munching sandwiches and listening with all his ears. "Splendid! Go on!"
"Well, I went back. She came down all ready in ten minutes or so with a small hand-bag. She told me to tell Gregson she didn't know when she'd be back, and he'd have to get somebody else—she'd be obliged to nurse her mother. The first cab came up and she went off, first telling me to tell the man to drive to Liverpool Street—she'd said to me that her mother lived in Essex. The other cab came as soon as hers had gone; I locked up the ware​house, got into the cab, and we followed at a short distance. When we got to where York Road turns out of Westminster Bridge Road I saw her lean out of her cab window and motion the driver to some place on the top side of the street, so I drew my driver's attention to it."
"That was when I saw you," said Wedgwood. "Well?"
"Her cab pulled up at a shop—a newsagent's, a small place. She got out and went in. Of course, we pulled up at a safe distance and watched. Almost as soon as she'd gone into the shop, she came out again, gave her driver something, and went back into the shop. He turned his cab, and came along past us. As he was in the know he drew up by us a minute and spoke to me through the window. 'Says she ain't going further at present,' he told me. 'But you look out!' he went on. 'There's two trunks just inside that shop, with what looks like steamer labels on 'em!' Then he moved off, and we watched, and in a few minutes she came to the door with a man, and presently they signalled a taxi that was going past with its flag up. The man in the shop door brought out the trunks and helped the driver to put them on his cab. She came out, got in, and ​they went off. And of course we followed—to Waterloo!"
"Not to Liverpool Street and mother!" observed Wedgwood sarcastically. "Well—you'd be beginning to feel the pleasures of the chase by that time, my lad, what?"
"I was beginning to feel that I'd got my work set!" replied Stainsby. "I was afraid she'd see me at Waterloo, crowded though it always is. Then again, I'd not much money on me, only about ten shillings. But I got over that—I borrowed a couple of pounds from the taxi-chap. And I continued to dodge her splendidly in the station until at last, when she left her trunks with a porter while she went into the waiting-room, I managed to slip past them and get a glance at the labels. They were steamer labels—for the Mauretania. So I knew I was safe then, and I didn't bother to keep an eye on her any longer. I went straight off and got a ticket for Southampton and went to the train and got into a far side corner of a smoking-carriage. And at last I saw her pass, with her trunks, and get in further up."
"That was the five-thirty, I suppose?" said Wedgwood.
"It was—and it got here to this station at seven-sixteen," agreed the apprentice. "And just as I expected there was Thomas Wray​poole on the platform! Then, of course, I had to do the dodging game again. It was fortunate for me that it was evening, but though it was I had to be jolly careful. However, they never saw me, but I did see enough to see that after they'd got her two trunks on to a barrow Thomas had another, similarly labelled, fetched from the left luggage office. After that they got a cab and drove off—and I lost 'em! When I wanted a cab there wasn't one. I'd a nice hunt for them last night, I can tell you, Mr. Wedgwood! I hung round the principal hotels, peeped into windows, and ventured into two or three, but I couldn't find them. At last, I found that the Mauretania didn't sail till four o'clock this afternoon, so I turned into a small hotel myself near the Docks and went to bed. But this morning—I got 'em!"
"How?" asked Wedgwood, who by this time was beginning to admire his amateur assistant's powers. "Accident—or what?"
"Well, it was accident," replied Stainsby, candidly. "Good luck! The hotel I put up at is on the other side of a sort of park opposite the Dock Gates. I was looking out of the window as I was dressing, and I saw Thomas Wraypoole standing near the Dock Gates talking to a policeman. After a bit he turned away and went back across the road to a side en​trance of the big hotel at the corner, the South-Western. He went in—and that's where they are! What're you going to do about it, Mr. Wedgwood?"
Wedgwood drank off the last mouthful of his glass of beer, rose, buttoned up his overcoat, and picked up his umbrella, all with an air of determination.
"Do, my lad?" he answered. "Well, I'm going first of all to pay a visit to the police authorities here, to give certain information, and to get the assistance of another man. And then I'm going to see Mr. Thomas Wraypoole, who from what you tell me seems safe until at any rate four o'clock."
"And—collar him?" asked Stainsby.
"I don't think Thomas'll cross the Atlantic this trip, my lad!" answered Wedgwood. "Well, now, come along, and we'll find the police headquarters."
Stainsby cooled his heels in an ante-room of the police-station for some little time before Wedgwood, meanwhile closeted with various officials, appeared again. He began to get restive, having ascertained during the morning that intending passengers for New York could go aboard the Mauretania some little time before the vessel was due to sail: it seemed to him that if his late employer once got aboard and ​amongst a vast crowd of travellers all hope of finding him would be gone. But Wedgwood, when he at last came back to him showed no symptoms of anxiety or haste: he motioned Stainsby out into a corridor where two quietly dressed men eyed him over with evident slightly amused interest.
"This is the young hopeful!" said Wedgwood, with a wink at the two strangers. "All there! Now Stainsby, my lad, your turn to be useful comes in. Go down to the Docks with these friends of mine: they know where to go, and all you've got to do is to go with them. But when you get where you're going, you're to keep your eyes skinned for Thomas Wraypoole! And as soon as you catch sight of him, you're to point him out to these gentlemen. See?"
"All right!" said Stainsby. He looked the two men closely over, and turned to Wedgwood.
"You ought to remember," he continued, "that passengers can go on board some time before the ship's due out. Wraypoole may be on board now."
Wedgwood smiled and patted Stainsby's shoulder.
"Good lad!" he said. "Nothing like thinking on all sides. But Wraypoole isn't on board my lad—Wraypoole and his wife are at this ​moment finishing a late lunch at the South-Western Hotel and he's arranged with the hall-porter to send his light luggage across to the steamer at precisely half-past three. Cute chap, Thomas Wraypoole, my lad!"
He laughed and turned away to a uniformed man who was awaiting him, and Stainsby went out into the street with the two detectives.
"What did Wedgwood mean by saying that Thomas Wraypoole's a cute man?" he asked suddenly. "What's he been showing any cuteness about?"
The two men exchanged glances and laughed quietly.
"He meant that Wraypoole's cute enough not to go abroad till the last minute," replied one. "Slip through when things are busiest, eh?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Stainsby. That had not struck him. "There's one thing I should advise you to be careful about," he went on after a pause. "Wraypoole's not the sort to stick at anything if he gets in a tight hole!"
"Ah!" said the other detective, dryly. "We'll bear that in mind! Likely to have anything nasty on him?"
"I don't know," answered Stainsby. "He may have a revolver for all I know. And he ​mayn't! But if he has I know who'll get the benefit of it if he's a chance to handle it!"
"Who, then?" asked the man next him.
"Me!" retorted Stainsby. "If he catches sight of me, with you, he'll be fit to play hell!"
"Ah!" said the detective. "That would be unpleasant! But we'll take care that he doesn't catch sight of you! Your job, and ours, is to catch sight of him!"
"There's one thing you're forgetting," remarked Stainsby, shrewdly. "Supposing he catches sight of me before I catch sight of him. What then?"
The two men laughed.
"All right," said one. "But as a matter of fact, he and his wife'll be followed from the time they leave the hotel, so that's all right. And we'll put you where he won't see you!"
"Seem to be taking no chances!" said Stainsby.
"Naturally!" assented the detective. "Your friend Wedgwood isn't, anyway."
"Why hasn't he come along?" asked Stainsby. "I thought he'd be keen to be in at it!"
"He'll be in at it all right, when what they call the psychological moment comes," answered the detective. "You trust him for that!"
​He and his companion led Stainsby by various ways evidently well-known to themselves, and past various steamship officials until the apprentice found himself in a vast shed amongst groups of people and piles of goods; through one of many open doors he saw, just across a narrow quay the long, black bulk of the great ocean liner. And through another open door he saw a gangway leading up from the quay to the deck, and at its foot uniformed officials and near them a board on which in big letters was the word Passports.
One of his companions touched Stainsby's shoulder, motioning him to a pile of goods near the door.
"You slip behind that," he said. "You'll get a view of the landing-stage from there without being seen yourself. When you see him approaching, give us a wink—we'll do the rest."
Stainsby took up his position. On the quayside, and on the decks of the great liner things grew busier and busier. Men and women, mails and merchandise were being crowded on board; everywhere there was bustle and confusion. And suddenly he saw Thomas Wraypoole and the housekeeper. They came hurrying along, an hotel porter carrying their small baggage.
​"Coming!" whispered Stainsby. He was getting so excited that he could hardly breathe the word. But he made an effort and got out two more. "There! Now!"
The two detectives went slowly and quietly behind Thomas Wraypoole and his companion as he reached the gangway and produced his passports. The official who examined glanced them over, glanced the man and woman over, and handed them back. And Wraypoole was signing the woman to step forward up the gangway when the elder detective tapped him on the elbow.
"Mr. Thomas Wraypoole?" he said. "Mrs. Wraypoole? Just so!—A word with you, Mr. Wraypoole, if you'll step inside a minute."
Unseen himself Stainsby was eagerly watching his old master. He saw Wraypoole turn, start, stare at the two men, and turn white to his eyes: he saw his lips open. But he saw that no sound came from them. The next sound Stainsby heard was from the elder detective as he drew Wraypoole inside the shed, close to the pile of goods behind which the apprentice was concealed.
"We're police-officers, Mr. Wraypoole, and we've a warrant for your arrest! You'd better———"
​Then Stainsby heard Wraypoole's voice—angry, indignant.
"You're making a damned mistake, then! I suppose it's that Handel Street affair, but———"
Another voice broke in on his own, and that, to the surprise of Stainsby who had no idea that he was at hand, was Wedgwood's—sharp, decisive.
"We're not dealing with murder—at present, Wraypoole!" he said. "I want you for forgery!"