“May I ask, Miss Abbeway,” he began, “whether the small coupe car, standing about a hundred yards down the back avenue, is yours?”
“It is,” she assented, with a little sigh. “It won’t go.”
“It won’t go?” the Colonel repeated.
“I thought you might know something about cars,” she explained. “They tell me that two of the sparking plugs are cracked. I am thinking of replacing them tomorrow morning, if I can get Mr. Orden to help me.”
“How long has the car been there in its present condition, then?” the Colonel enquired.
“Since about five o’clock yesterday afternoon,” she replied.
“You don’t think it possible that it could have been out on the road anywhere last night, then?”
“Out on the road!” she laughed. “Why, I couldn’t get it up to the garage! You go and look at it, Colonel, if you understand cars. Fellowes, the chauffeur here, had a look at the plugs when I brought it in, and you’ll find that they haven’t been touched.”
“I trust,” the Earl intervened, “that my chauffeur offered to do what was necessary?”
“Certainly he did, Lord Maltenby,” she assured him. “I am trying hard to be my own mechanic, though, and I have set my mind on changing those plugs myself to-morrow morning.”