“He seemed all right to me,” the garage keeper continued his narrative. “It was only after I got home that I began to smell a rat. He wanted me to pick him up at the end of Barnes Common, near the Wimbledon Road, at a quarter past ten to-night, and drive him to Southampton. He asked for a closed car, but I told him I hadn’t got one that could do the journey, and I didn’t like the idea, anyway. But as he offered me double the fare I should have asked, and paid half of it down, I agreed.” “Did you ask him why he wanted to go to Southampton at a quarter past ten?” “That was the first question I asked,” said the man. “He told me he was dining with some friends, and that that would mean he would lose the boat train--the _Berengaria_ pulls out at five o’clock to-morrow morning, and all the passengers must be on the ship overnight. I’ve had that job before, so it wasn’t unusual. The only queer thing about it was that, instead of asking me to pick him up at a house, he fixed this place on Barnes Common. But he told me he didn’t want his friends to know that he was leaving the next day. At any rate, I fell for him, but as time went on I began to get suspicious and communicated with the police.” “What sort of looking man was he?” asked Leslie. “A middle-aged man, miss,” said the chauffeur-owner, a little surprised at a question from this quarter. “It struck me that he’d been booz--drinking a little, but that’s neither here nor there. He was well dressed, and that’s all I can tell you about him except that he was clean-shaven, had rather a big face, and wore a soft felt hat.” Coldwell turned to the girl. “Does that describe any of the people we have been looking over?” he asked. She shook her head. “No,” she said quietly, “but it rather accurately describes Druze!” “Druze?” he said incredulously. “You’re not suggesting that Druze is one of the gang?” “I’m not suggesting anything,” she said, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Did you notice his hands, Mr.----” “Porter,” said the chauffeur. “Yes, miss, I did notice his hands when he took off his gloves to pay me. They were very white.” She looked at Coldwell. “That is an even more accurate description,” she said. “You didn’t go to the Common, did you?” asked Coldwell. “No, sir. The inspector went up in my car with a couple of policemen.” “He must have smelled a rat,” said the local inspector. “There was no sign of anybody at a quarter past ten, and apparently he was very particular about his being there absolutely on time. He told Mr. Porter: ‘If I’m not there by twenty-five minutes past, don’t wait for me.’ That sounds rather like the gang, Mr. Coldwell,” he added. “It is an old trick of theirs to hire a car and arrange to be picked up in some quiet spot----” The telephone bell tinkled in another room and he went to the instrument. He was gone five minutes. When he came back: