Two miles of rapid driving brought them to the straggling village of Rainham, and, checking his speed a trifle as they ran through the main street, Colin swung out on to a lone stretch of country road, where except for one or two farm carts and an occasional belated cyclist, they seemed to be the only travellers. He had covered about another three miles when, with a sudden movement, the sergeant leaned over from the back. "We're getting pretty near now, sir," he observed. "If your information's right, the house we want ought to be somewhere about here." Colin slackened down, and as he did so the bent figure of an old man, with a pitchfork over his shoulder, suddenly loomed into view out of an adjoining gateway. "Here's someone who'll probably be able to help us," said Marsden. "Just pull up a moment, and we'll ask him." They came to a standstill alongside the stranger, who blinked at them suspiciously from under his shaggy eyebrows. Marsden leaned over and addressed him with a friendly nod. "Good evening, uncle," he said. "I wonder if you can tell us whether there's a house called 'The Firs' anywhere around this neighbourhood." With considerable deliberation the veteran unshipped his pitchfork. "Whoy, yees, mister," he replied. "There be a 'ouse o' that name sure enough. There aren't no one there though, not as I knows on." "That doesn't matter," said the Inspector. "We only want to have a look at the outside of it." "You don't 'ave to go far for that," was the encouraging reply. "You'll find it on the right-'and side of the road soon as you've passed the nex' turnin'." "I suppose you don't happen to know who owns the place?" inquired Marsden. "Well, I 'ave 'eard that it's a rich gen'leman in London. Party o' the name o' Fenton. 'E don't use it much though, an' that's a fact; only comes down 'ere for an odd day or two now an' then." "Just when he wants a breath of fresh air, eh?" suggested Marsden genially. "Well, I'm much obliged to you, uncle. Perhaps you'll get yourself a drink when the pubs open." He produced a shilling, which the old man readily accepted, and, with a slight pressure of his foot on the clutch, Colin again set the car in motion. "Don't hurry," whispered Marsden. "Drive us slowly past the place and then stop. If any one's inside there's pretty sure to be a light in the windows." Following his instructions, Colin proceeded noiselessly along the road, which curved away to the left about a hundred yards from where they had halted. As he rounded the bend a dark cluster of trees sprang into view a short distance ahead of him, and the next moment he was able to make out the roof and chimneys of a small house, which appeared to stand a little way back from the road. "That's our mark," observed Marsden, with a grunt of satisfaction. He turned round in his seat and addressed the sergeant. "You hop out here, Bentley, and have a look at it from this side. We'll come back and meet you at the front gate."