“Why, sir, I saw the very car!” exclaimed the Park-keeper excitedly. “A two-seater it was—Cowpay I think they call them—the sort that shuts up like a closed car but opens down when you wants ’em to. It was standin’ there near the arch—about opposite the Royal Marines’ statue I should say—for quite a time that evening. There was a girl in it—couldn’t see much of her, ’cause she’d got a newspaper up in front of her as she made out to be readin’. She wasn’t readin’ it all the time though, ’cause I saw her watching up the Mall—towards the Duke’s Steps, now I come to think of it—as if she was waitin’ for someone—her young man I took it to be. I didn’t see him come, nor I didn’t see her move off—more’s the pity—but I know she was there soon after six, ’cause I saw her when I come out from my tea, and I knew she was there for some time ’cause I didn’t go into the Park at once but stayed talkin’ to a friend or two—that was how I come to notice that she was watchin’ for someone. She was gone at seven when I come back that way again.” Poole was deeply stirred by this information; it fitted in so exactly with the theory that he had begun to form. He tried his utmost to get a description of the girl but Blossom could only say that she seemed youngish and didn’t wear spectacles; he asked for the number of the car: Blossom had not noticed it, though he had noticed the type of body; he couldn’t even give the make, though it wasn’t a Rolls, a Daimler, or an original Ford—the only makes he could recognize. It was desperately tantalizing, but even without identification or exact descriptions the information was of great value. Having got so far, Poole felt that the time had come for another reconstruction. He was so eager to make it that he decided not to wait till the small hours of the night but to take advantage of the quiet period between the ingoing and outcoming of the theatres. Chief Inspector Barrod would not, of course, be present—Poole did not feel inclined to face the unpopularity of recalling his superior officer from his evening’s recreation—but Barrod’s presence, though helpful, was also rather damping. Discovering that neither Detective-Constable Rawton nor his Irish mate had yet gone off duty, Poole arranged for them to report to him at half-past nine; he also secured the services of a closed police car. Having made these preparations he took himself off to the nearest restaurant for a little supper.