"
"Traced the car?"
"No. It must have been hired or borrowed from a long distance
off."
Where the tracks of the tires were visible we stopped, and Harley
made a careful examination of the marks.
"Seems to have had a struggle with her," he said, dryly.
"Very likely!" agreed Wessex, without interest.
Harley crawled about on the ground for some time, to the great
detriment of his Harris tweeds, but finally arose, a curious
expression on his face--which, however, the detective evidently
failed to observe.
We returned to the Manor House where Sir Howard was awaiting us,
his good-humoured red face more red than usual; and in the
library, with its sporting prints and its works for the most part
dealing with riding, hunting, racing, and golf (except for a
sprinkling of Nat Gould's novels and some examples of the older
workmanship of Whyte-Melville), we were presently comfortably
ensconced. On a side table were placed a generous supply of
liquid refreshments, cigars and cigarettes; so that we made
ourselves quite comfortable, and Sir Howard restrained his
indignation, until each had a glass before him and all were
smoking.
"Now," he began, "what have you got to report, gentlemen? You,
Inspector," he pointed with his cigar toward Wessex, "have seen
Vane's man and all of you have been down to look at these damned
tracks.
Pages:
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200