“When we came in after finding it that night I sent young Makepeace out for it. That’s the son. He couldn’t start it and he had to take out another car and tow it in. He took it to the garage for repairs and it has lain there ever since. Then when Mrs. Berlyn was leaving, Makepeace bought it from her. I understand he wants to sell it now.” French rose. “Good!” he said again. “Then let us go to this Makepeace and see if it is still there. You might introduce me as a friend who wants a second-hand car and who might take Mr. Berlyn’s. If possible we’ll get it out and do the same run that those men did that night. I want to get some times. Are you a driver?” “Yes, I can handle it all right.” The Makepeace garage was a surprisingly large establishment for so small a town. At least a dozen cars stood in the long low shed, and there were lorries and char-à-bancs in the yard behind. Daw hailed a youth who was polishing the brasswork of one of the “charries.” “Your father about, John?” Mr. Makepeace, it appeared, was in the office, and thither the two men walked, to be greeted by a stout individual with smiling lips and shrewd eyes. “’Morning, sergeant! Looking for me?” The sergeant nodded. “This is a friend of mine,” he explained, “who is looking for a good second-hand car. I told him about Mr. Berlyn’s, but I didn’t know whether you had it still. We came across to enquire.” “It’s here, all right, and I can afford to sell it cheap.” Mr. Makepeace turned to French. “What kind of machine were you wanting, sir?” “A medium-size four-seater, but I’m not particular as to make. If I saw one I liked I would take it.” “This is a first-rate car,” Mr. Makepeace declared, firmly. “One that I can stand over. But I’m afraid she’s not very clean. I was going to have her revarnished and the bright parts plated. She’ll be as good as new then. You can see her in the back house.” He led the way to a workshop containing a variety of cars undergoing repairs. Just inside the door was a small dark-blue four-seater touring car, looking a trifle the worse for wear. To this he pointed. “A first-rate car,” he repeated, “and in good order, too, though wanting a bit of a clean-up. As you can see, she’s a fifteen-twenty Mercury, two years old, but the engine’s as good as the day it was made. Have a look over her.” French knew something of cars, though he was no expert. But by saying little and looking wise he impressed the other with his knowledge. Finally he admitted that everything seemed satisfactory, though he would require an expert’s opinion before coming to a decision. “Could I have a run in it?” he asked. “I should, of course, pay for its hire. I want to go over to Tavistock, and if you could let me have the car it would suit. Mr. Daw says he will take half a day’s leave and drive me.”