“Stop!” and jumped into the roadway.
He was gone a few minutes, and then he called Dick, and the three men went back to where the detective was standing, looking at a big red motor-cycle that stood under the shelter of a crumbling stone wall. They had passed it without observation, for its owner had chosen the other side of the wall, and it was only the gleam of the light on a handlebar which showed just above its screen, that had led to its detection.
Dick ran to the car and backed it so that the wall and machine were visible. The cycle was almost new; it was splattered with mud, and its acetylene head-lamps were cold to the touch. Elk had an inspiration. At the back of the seat was a heavy tool-wallet, attached by a firm strap, and this he began to unfasten.
“If this is a new machine, the maker will have put the name and address of the owner in his wallet,” he said.
Presently the tool-bag was detached, and Elk unstrapped the last fastening and turned back the flap.
“Great Moses!” said Elk.
Neatly painted on the undressed leather was:
“Joshua Broad, 6, Caverley House, Cavendish Square!”