“There is one other thing I have just remembered,” she said. “It may or may not have something to do with the affair. Last night—it must have been about half-past eleven—I heard a motor in the street. It stopped for about ten minutes, though the engine ran all the time, then went off again. I didn’t look out, but now that I come to think about it it sounded as if it might be standing at No. 12. Of course you understand that is only a guess, but motorcars are somewhat rare visitors to this street, and there may have been some connection.” “Extremely probable, I should think, madam,” French commented. He rose. “Now we must be off to act on what you have told us. I needn’t say that you have placed us very greatly in your debt.” “It was but little I could do,” the lady returned. “I do hope you may be able to help that poor girl. I should be so glad to hear that she is all right.” Cheyne was touched by this unexpected sympathy. “You may count on my letting you know, madam,” he said, and then thinking of the terribly monotonous existence led by the poor soul, he went on warmly: “I should like, if I might, to call and tell you all about it, but if I am prevented I shall certainly write. May I know what name to address to?” “Mrs. Sproule, 17 Colton Street. I should be glad to see you if you are in this district, but I couldn’t think of taking you out of your way.” A few moments later French had collected his three remaining men, and was being driven rapidly to the nearest telephone call office. There he rang up the Yard, repeated the descriptions of the car and of each of its occupants, and asked for the police force generally to be advised that they were wanted, particularly the men on duty at railway stations and wharves, not only in London, but in the surrounding country. “Now we’ll have a shot at picking up the trail ourselves,” he went on to Cheyne when he had sent his message. He re-entered the car, calling to the driver: “Get back and find the men on point duty round about Colton Street.” Of the four men they interviewed, three had not noticed the yellow car. The fourth, on a beat in the thoroughfare at the eastern end of Colton Street, had seen a car of the size and color in question going eastwards at about the hour the party had left No. 12. There seeming nothing abnormal about the vehicle, he had not specially observed it or noted the number, but he had looked at the driver, and the man he described resembled Blessington. “That’s probably it all right,” French commented, “but it doesn’t help us a great deal. If they were going to any of the stations or steamers, or to practically anywhere in town, this is the way they would pass. Let us try a step further.” Keeping in the same general direction they searched for other men on point duty, but though after a great deal of running backwards and forwards, they found all in the immediate neighborhood that the car would have been likely to pass, none of them had noticed it.