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That you, Hersheimmer? Beresford speaking. I'm at Waterloo. I've followed

Whittington and another man here. No time to explain. Whittington's off to

Bournemouth by the 3.30. Can you get there by then?"

The reply was reassuring.

"Sure. I'll hustle."

The telephone rang off. Tommy put back the receiver with a sigh of relief. His

opinion of Julius's power of hustling was high. He felt instinctively that the

American would arrive in time.

Whittington and Boris were still where he had left them. If Boris remained to see

his friend off, all was well. Then Tommy fingered his pocket thoughtfully. In spite

of the carte blanche assured to him, he had not yet acquired the habit of going

about with any considerable sum of money on him. The taking of the first-class

ticket to Bournemouth had left him with only a few shillings in his pocket. It was

to be hoped that Julius would arrive better provided.

In the meantime, the minutes were creeping by: 3.15, 3.20, 3.25, 3.27. Supposing

Julius did not get there in time. 3.29.... Doors were banging. Tommy felt cold

waves of despair pass over him. Then a hand fell on his shoulder.

Here I am, son. Your British traffic beats description! Put me wise to the crooks

right away."

"That's Whittington--there, getting in now, that big dark man. The other is the

foreign chap he's talking to."

I'm on to them. Which of the two is my bird?"

Tommy had thought out this question.

Got any money with you?"

Julius shook his head, and Tommy's face fell.

I guess I haven't more than three or four hundred dollars with me at the

moment," explained the American.

Tommy gave a faint whoop of relief.

The Secret Adversary