That done Labar sat down to study a large scale map of the south-eastern corner of England. He had sound reasons for supposing that Hughes was somewhere in that angle formed by Kent and Sussex. The Rolls Royce car in which Penelope Noelson had been abducted, had been traced for many miles along the Hastings road. Larry's dash to London and to "Maid's Retreat" convinced the detective that the hiding place wherever it might be was within a hundred miles from London. He explored the map with his forefinger. There were dozens of places along remote roads where concealment might be effective. But Labar washed out a great many of these as improbable. He had already circularised the police forces of the area in which he felt that the fugitives might be located. Larry had been using his car, and a Rolls Royce in a country lane would be even more conspicuous to a village constable, than the same car on one of the main roads. Labar had a list of every Rolls Royce that had been seen about the area he was searching since Larry's flight. Those of which the numbers had been taken had for the most part been identified, and wiped out. There remained several which might or might not have been Larry's. There had been five such cars seen on the Folkestone--Rye road. One constable reported that a shepherd on the Romney Marshes had told him of a big car--which the police officer believed might have been a Rolls Royce--seen twice on a derelict stretch of road leading into the marshland. Labar bent his mind to this point. It seemed the most promising of all to start from, although it might, as so often happens in these cases where a man is acting more or less on guess work, prove nothing but a mare's nest. But if a man wanted to keep out of the way what better place of refuge could he find than these same desolate Romney Marshes. With Myson in charge at Grape Street, other ends of the investigation in London could for the while be left to themselves. Labar decided that with two men he could rake the district as effectively and more quietly than if he had a dozen. If his guess was right, it would not do to disturb Larry. That evening, with a suit-case and a bag of golf clubs, he descended on the mediæval town of Rye. A golfer or an artist would find himself entirely without question at the ancient Cinque Port Town. For his own purposes Harry Labar was a naturalist as well as a golfer, and he proposed to examine the flora and fauna of the marshes with some precision ere he returned to town.