"Thank you, my lord. You see I may be all wrong, so I don't want to say too much till I can prove my case."
"I understand that," said Cyril; "and this clue that you are following—what is it?" he inquired with breathless impatience.
"The car, my lord," answered the Inspector, settling himself deeper in his chair, while his eyes began to gleam with suppressed excitement.
"You have found the car in which her ladyship made her escape?"
"I don't know about that yet, but I have found the car that stood at the foot of the long lane on the night of the murder."
"Remarkable!"
"Oh, that's not so very wonderful," protested the Inspector with an attempt at modesty, but he was evidently bursting with pride in his achievement.
"How did you do it? What had you to go on?" asked Cyril with genuine amazement.
"I began my search by trying to find out what cars had been seen in the neighbourhood of Geralton on the night of the murder—by neighbourhood I mean a radius of twenty-five miles. I found, as I expected, that half-past eleven not being a favourite hour for motoring, comparatively few had been seen or heard. Most of these turned out to be the property of gentlemen who had no difficulty in proving that they had been used only for perfectly legitimate purposes. There remained, however, two cars of which I failed to get a satisfactory account. One belongs to a Mr. Benedict, a young man who owns a place about ten miles from Geralton, and who seems to have spent the evening motoring wildly over the country. He pretends he had no particular object, and as he is a bit queer, it may be true. The other car is the property of the landlord of the Red Lion Inn, a very respectable hotel in Newhaven. I then sent two of my men to examine these cars and report if either of them has a new tire, for the gardener's wife swore that the car she heard had burst one. Mr. Benedict's tires all showed signs of wear, but the Red Lion car has a brand new one!"
"Bravo! That is a fine piece of work."