He nodded. "Got a couple. One here; the house is just over the hill yonder;" jerking a thumb in the direction; "and one out Lingen way."
"That's where we're padding it, ain't it, boss?" asked Nessa.
A nasty slip, but my fault, for I had not told her I had said I was going to Osnabrück. The farmer noticed it, of course. "Thought you spoke of a job at Osnabrück?" he said meaningly.
"Did I? Must have been half asleep, I suppose. It's Lingen we're bound for."
"No concern of mine. Here we are. Now let's see what you can do."
It was a curious composite; a cross between a touring car and a delivery van. The seats of the tonneau had been taken out to make room for goods, and there was a moveable arrangement for raising the sides at need. There were a few swedes and a tiny truss of hay in it, suggesting the use to which it was put; but there was something else which prompted very different thoughts.
"They've taken all my horses, so I have to fall back on this, to carry the fodder round," he said, noticing my curiosity.
I nodded and threw back the bonnet to find the trouble. It was a splendid engine, 40 h.p. but very dirty; and the dirt had caused the stoppage. Half an hour would put everything right; but I tinkered and fussed over it, as I wished to investigate what I had noticed in the tonneau.
The farmer watched me for a time; then talked to Nessa, who made great play with the Hans impersonation; and I found my chance. I was right. The farmer fed his cattle on very original diet; coffee, sugar, and cocoa seemed to be considerable ingredients, judging by the evidences I found under the swedes and hay. And his other farm was at Lingen! And Lingen was close to the Dutch frontier!
If circumstantial evidence went for anything, this meant that the chief use of the car was for smuggling, and that the agricultural produce was to pull the wool over the eyes of the curious.