Inspector Raeburn confirmed the time angle. “The shipping agent says he got an urgent call about the crate around one o’clock. The caller promised to deliver it in time to be loaded when the ship docked.”
He added that Tom’s description of the eavesdropper fitted the gunman who held up the van.
“What name did he give when he called the shipping agent?” Bud asked curiously.
“The Mustafa Carpet Company of London-a firm which doesn’t exist.
Supposedly the crate contained Oriental rugs, but how they hoped to get it past French Customs I don’t quite see.”
Tom frowned thoughtfully. “I’m sure my unknown enemies planned to hijack the crate en route-or at least before it was opened in Calais.”
“Could be,” Inspector Raeburn agreed. “The consignee in Calais was given as Jean For-78 AQUATOMIC TRACKER
geron-no address. He was supposed to claim the crate on arrival.”
“Jean Forgeron?” Sandy exclaimed. “In French that means John SmithI”
The inspector looked startled, then smiled dryly. “In other words he doesn’t exist, either. You’d make a good detective, Miss Swift. By the way, Tristan Carlow definitely boarded a plane for the States yesterday morning.”
“I phoned a full report to our plant security chief last night,” Bud added. “He’s going to check on Carlow’s background.”
Finally Inspector Raeburn stood up to leave. “You’ve had two unpleasant experiences since you arrived in England, sir,” he apologetically told Tom. “I trust you won’t hold it against us.”
The young inventor grinned. “Believe me, I’m grateful the British police are so efficient-you probably saved my life.”
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