“Next day about ten-thirty he came back and said he had got done earlier than he expected. I had the lorry examined, and when I found it was all right I paid him back two hundred and ninety-five pounds. He returned me my receipt and went out, and that was all about it.” “It’s a pleasure to get a clear statement like that, Mr. Llewellyn,” French said, with his friendly smile, “and it’s surprising how seldom one does get it. There are just one or two further points I should like information on. Have you got those letters from the London hotel?” “No, I’m afraid they’re destroyed. They were kept until the transaction was finished and then burned.” “But you have the address?” “Mr. John F. Stewart, St. Pancras Hotel, London.” “You might give me the dates of the correspondence.” This also the owner was able to do, and French added them to his notes. “Can you describe the hand they were written in?” “They were typewritten.” “Purple or black ribbon?” Mr. Llewellyn hesitated. “Black, I think, but I couldn’t be sure.” “Now about the driver. Can you describe him?” “He was a middling tall man, middling stout also. His hair was red and his complexion fresh, and he wore glasses.” “His dress?” “I could hardly describe it. He was dressed like a well-to-do labourer or a small jobbing contractor or something of that sort. He was untidy and I remember thinking that he wanted a shave pretty badly. I took him for a gardener or general man about a country place.” “You couldn’t guess where he had come from by his accent?” “No, I couldn’t tell. He wasn’t local, but that’s all I could say.” “The same man came back next day?” “Yes.” “Had you any conversation with him on either occasion?” “No, except that he explained about lowering the machine on to the foundation, same as in the letter.” This seemed to French to be all he could get, and after some further talk he and the superintendent took their leave. “He’s loaded up the crate here in Swansea, at all events,” French exclaimed when they were in the street. “That seems to postulate docks and stations. I wonder if I can trespass still further on your good nature, Superintendent?” “Of course. I’ll send men round first thing to-morrow. It’s too late to-night; all the places would be shut.” “Thanks. Then I’ll turn up early in the morning.” At the nearest telegraph office French sent a message to the Yard to have enquiries made at the St. Pancras Hotel as to the mysterious Mr. John F. Stewart. Then, tired from his exertions, he returned to his hotel at Burry Port. Early next morning he was back in Swansea. It was decided that with a constable who knew the docks he, French, was to apply at the various steamship offices, while other men were to try the railway stations and road transport agencies. If these failed, the local firms and manufacturers who usually sent out their products in crates were to be called on. French did not believe that the search would be protracted.