He summed up all these facts, and then asked himself breathlessly as to whether it was wholly improbable that the barman's brother worked in the submarine sheds and had supplied the stolen plans. What a safe and unsuspected place it would be to send them to, a little village such as Wickford!
Arriving at Wickford, he made his way to the post office, which was also a little general shop, and kept, he saw by the name over the door, by one Angas McToon.
Walking inside, he asked for a quarter of a pound of boiled sweets, and noted with some amusement with what extreme care the tall, big-boned man who served them weighed them. Not one too many or one too few, just the exact weight, even to half a sweet.
He regarded the man critically. He was tight-lipped and taciturn-looking, with pale blue
