Before arriving at the rear corner, however, Nick brought up at the open door of a barroom of exceedingly primitive type, in which he found three men. Two of them were rather roughly clad, dark-featured fellows of about thirty years of age, and both were seated at a round, bare table, each with a partly drank glass of ale before him. The third was a brawny, red-featured man in his shirt sleeves. He was wiping the top of a dingy bar with a towel. All looked a bit surprised when the detective’s imposing figure appeared at the open door. None evinced any deeper feeling, however, as Nick stepped in and approached the bar. He ordered a glass of ale and remarked agreeably, with a glance at the two men at the table: “Fine morning, gents. Drink yours down and have another.” “Don’t mind if I do,” said one, replying. “Good enough. What town is that up the river?” Nick asked. The man behind the bar informed him, while drawing the ale from a faucet in the wall, and Nick took a chair at a window overlooking the grounds back of the house and the broad curve of the river. His view of it was partly obstructed, however, by the old stable and other outbuildings. A path near them led down to a narrow, wooden float, or landing, to which a motor launch was made fast. “You are Mr. Dugan, I take it?” Nick remarked to the man who was serving him. “That’s right,” was the reply, with a nod. “I read your name on the sign.” “I have run this place for a dozen years.” “Some distance from town, aren’t you?” “Not too far for my business,” said Dugan, returning to wipe the bar. “There are some houses above here a piece, but I get most of my coin from parties who drive out from town.” “Sort of a road house, isn’t it?” “That’s what.” “You didn’t happen to hear a motor car go by last night, did you?” Nick asked carelessly. “What time?” “Between ten and eleven.” “No, I didn’t,” Dugan vouchsafed, with stolid countenance. “The best road is on t’other side of the river. Did you, Morley?” The last was addressed to one of the men at the table. He shook his head and glanced at his companion, replying readily: “No, I heard none. Did you, Conroy?” “What time did you say?” questioned Conroy, gazing. “I’m a bit deaf, you know.” “Between ten and eleven,” said Nick, with voice raised. “A motor car?” “Yes.” Conroy also shook his head. “None went by at that time, sir, nor even later,” he said assuringly. “I was sitting out front till near midnight. I’d have been sure to have seen it. Here’s good luck, sir.” And Mr. Conroy arose with his glass of ale and began to down it. “Same to you,” returned Nick indifferently. “Have you lost a car, sir?” questioned Dugan, gazing at him from over the bar.