"I don't mind for myself," she said, "but what about your car?"
I spread out my hands.
"Reason dictates that I should foot-slog it to Bloodstock and try and get the police moving; but I can't leave you here."
"You can easily, but you're not going to. I don't want to sit here for the rest of the day." She pointed to the barn. "Help me to get her in here, and then we'll push off to Bloodstock together."
A hurried reconnaissance led to the discovery of a little farmhouse, and two minutes later I was making urgent representations to the owner of the barn. To our relief the latter proved sympathetic and obliging, and before we again took to the road the two-seater was safely under lock and key.
"And now," said Miss Deriot, "how did it happen?"
"The theft? I can't imagine. We left that fool who yelled at us in charge. I suppose he left her to get a drink or something. This is only the fourth time we've had her out," I added gloomily.
"Oh, I say! Never mind. You're bound to get her again. Look at that meadow-sweet. Isn't it lovely? I wish I could paint. Can you?"
"I painted a key-cupboard once. It was hung, too. Outside the stillroom."
"Pity you didn't keep it up," said Miss Deriot. "It's a shame to waste talent like that. Isn't it just broiling? I should love a bathe now."