CHAPTER XI1
When Macdonald left the Vanbrughs’ house, bowed out solemnly by old Josef, who closed the double doors behind the visitor with a resounding clang, there was a group of people standing on the opposite side of the road. Their presence was inevitable and Macdonald knew it. Vienna was the same as London or any other city: where there was an “accident” or an “incident,” sightseers would gather; pressmen, gossips, passers-by. The story of Neville Walsingham’s death was becoming known in Hietzing, and from Hietzing it had spread into the city and brought the pressmen out.
Just as he was getting into the car Macdonald caught sight of a figure he recognised—Mr. Webster. The stout cameraman was making no attempt to take photographs, though his camera was slung around his neck, but he s
