“I just thought that was it, Mr. French, when your phone message came through. Do you mean that the body came from the works here?” “The crate came from here, all right, but where the body was put in I don’t know. That’s where I want your help. Can you give me any suggestions?” The sergeant, flattered by French’s attitude, wrinkled his brow in thought. “Did anyone, for example, leave the place or disappear some five or six weeks ago?” went on French. “No, sir,” Daw answered, slowly. “I can’t say that they did.” “What about Mr. Berlyn and Mr. Pyke?” Daw’s face showed first surprise and then incredulity. “You don’t doubt they were lost on the moor?” French continued. “It never occurred to me to doubt it. Do you think otherwise yourself?” “Well, look here, Sergeant.” French leaned forward and demonstrated with his forefinger. “Those men disappeared on Monday night, the fifteenth of August. I say disappeared, because in point of fact they did disappear—their bodies were never found. On that same night the crate lay packed in the works, and next morning it was taken to the station and sent to Swansea. From that Tuesday morning until the body was found at Burry Port we cannot trace any opportunity of opening the crate. You must admit it looks suggestive.” “But the accident, sir? The breakdown of the car?” “That’s it, Sergeant. You’ve got it in one. If the breakdown was genuine the affair was an accident, but if it was faked—why, then we are on to a murder. At least that’s how it strikes me.” Daw was apologetic, but evidently still sceptical. “But do you suggest that both Mr. Berlyn and Mr. Pyke were murdered? If so, where’s the second body?” “What if one murdered the other?” But this was too much for the sergeant. “Oh, come now, sir,” he protested. “You didn’t know them. You couldn’t suspect either of those gentlemen of such a crime. Not possibly, you couldn’t.” “You think not? But what if I tell you that the man who claimed the crate at Swansea answered the description you gave me of Berlyn?” Sergeant Daw swore. “I shouldn’t have believed it,” he declared. “Well, there are the facts. You will see, therefore, that I must have first-hand information about the whole thing. I’ve read all that the papers can tell me, but that’s not enough. I want to go out on the moor with you and hear your story at the place where the thing happened. Particularly I want to test that matter of the breakdown. How can we get to know about that?” “Easily enough, I think.” The man spoke with some relief, as if turning to a pleasanter subject. “Makepeace has the car and he’ll be able to tell us. That’s the owner of one of the local garages.” “Good! How did Makepeace get hold of it?”