On reaching Swansea French looked up Superintendent Howells at the police station. “Glad to see you, Mr. French,” the superintendent greeted him. “I’ve known your name for a considerable time and since I heard you were down over this job I’ve been hoping we should meet. That Neath report any good to you?” “I think so,” French answered. “It sounds promising, at all events. On the strength of it I’ve come in to ask for your help.” “That’s all right. What do you want us to do?” “I want to trace the lorry your man saw out at Neath. I’ve got his description of it, and I must say that, seeing he suspected nothing at the time, he observed it pretty closely. A smart man, Superintendent.” “I’m glad you think so, Inspector. Right. I’ll put through a call to all stations immediately.” “Splendid. And can you ask Superintendent Griffiths at Llanelly to advise the Carmarthen men also?” The necessary circular drafted, the two chatted for some minutes until French excused himself on the ground that since he was at Swansea he might as well have a look round the town. “There’s not much to see in it, Mr. French,” Howells rejoined, “but Mumbles is worth visiting. I should advise you to take a bus there and walk round the Head and back by Langland. If you’re fond of a bit of good coast you’ll enjoy it. You’ll have plenty of time before we get any replies. Sorry I can’t go with you, but I’m full up here.” French went out, and after a stroll through some of the principal streets got on board a bus for Mumbles. There he took the walk Superintendent Howells had recommended. He enjoyed every minute of it. As he left the houses behind and the road began to rise up the side of the cliff he felt he was having one of the compensations of a country case. He walked up through the long rock cutting until at the top the wide expanse of the Bristol Channel came into view, with the islands and lighthouse off the Head in the foreground. There was some wind and the deep blue of the sea was flecked with white. He stood and watched three outward-bound steamers pitching gently in the swell, the smoke from their stacks trailing away east. Then he took the footpath round the cliffs, rising high round Rams Tor and dropping again to Langland Bay, from which another road led across the neck of the peninsula back into Mumbles. It was getting on towards five when he returned to the police station. “You’ve come at the right time, Inspector,” Superintendent Howells greeted him. “I’ve just had two pieces of news. Your lorry was seen twice. About five o’clock on Monday evening, 22nd August, the evening in question, it was seen by one of our men passing through Morriston. Morriston is a town some two miles north of Swansea; indeed, it is really a suburb. The lorry came from the Swansea direction and turned east at Morriston towards Neath. It was then carrying the tarpaulin-covered object.” “Then it started from Swansea?”