"Well--" he hesitated. "Only because there seemed to be something rather funny about Mr Murray--that's all." "Something funny about him? How?" "Well, from the moment he came here, till the moment he went away, he never came out of his room. And when he did, he was wearing a motor-coat with the collar turned up around his chin and goggles which entirely disguised him." "Not at all a suspicious circumstance, surely?" I remarked, though inwardly much interested. "On these white dusty roads every one must wear goggles." "Of course. But when people come to Swanage they generally go out and look about the town and the bay. Mr Murray, however, shut himself up and saw nobody, while his daughter drove over to Studland, where she stayed the night and returned about an hour before the motor started." "I'm going to follow that motor. I have a reason," I said. "Don't you think the chauffeur might have told one of the stable-hands or garage-men--if you have a garage here--as to his destination? There's a kind of freemasonry among chauffeurs, by which all of them know each other's roads." "I'll see," replied the obliging proprietor. "Come with me." He conducted me through to the back of the house, where a large courtyard had been recently converted into a garage. There were several cars in the coach-houses around, while in the centre of the yard a clean-shaven young man was turning a hose upon a dark red 16-horse "Fiat." "Gibbs, where has that blue car gone to this morning--the one that left an hour ago?" "The 40 `Mercedes,' sir? Gone to some place beyond Exeter, sir. They're on a big tour." "You don't know the name of the place?" I asked the man anxiously. "The chauffeur did tell me, but it was a funny name, an' I've forgotten." "They've gone direct to Exeter, in any case?" "Yes--by Dorchester, Chard and Honiton. 'E asked me about the road." "How far is it to Exeter?" "About seventy-eight or eighty miles." "I could get there by train before they arrived," I remarked. "Ah! I doubt it, sir," was the man's reply. "That's a good car they've got, and if you went by train you'd 'ave to go right up to Yeovil. They'd be through Exeter long before you got there." "That's so," remarked the hotel proprietor. "From here to Exeter by rail is a long cross-country journey." "Then could I get a car? Is any one of these for hire?" "This one 'ere belongs to Saunders, down in the town. 'E lets it out sometimes," replied Gibbs, indicating the red car he had been cleaning. "Then I'll have it--and you'll drive me, eh? We must overtake them." "Very good, sir," replied the man, and then I returned to the hotel to telephone to the owner and fix the price. Gibbs quickly filled the tank with petrol, poured water into the radiator, examined the tyres, pumping one that he found a little down; then he washed himself, put on his leather jacket and cap, and mounted to the wheel.