“They’re here now! They’ve just gone in! The woman has opened the door—they’ve just gone in!”
“Who? Is that Stott—do you mean into Mayfield?” asked Carver quickly.
“Yes! I saw them with my own eyes. The woman’s car is outside the door.”
“Go and get its number, quick,” said Carver sharply, “find a policeman and tell him, and if you can’t find one, detain the woman yourself.”
He heard Mr. Stott’s feeble expostulation, and jumped for his hat.
They boarded the first taxi-cab they could find, and raced through the town at a break-neck pace, turning into one end of the quiet avenue in which Mayfield was situated, just as the tail lights of a car turned the corner at the other end.
Mr. Stott was standing on the side-walk, pointing dumbly, but with hysterical gestures, at the place where the car had been.
“They’ve gone,” he said hollowly. “—couldn’t find a policeman: they’ve gone!”
“So I notice,” said Carver. “Did you take the number of the car?”
Mr. Stott shook his head and made a choking noise in his throat. Presently he commanded his speech.