“Don’t build too much on that, Mr. Cheyne. They may have lent her a coat.”
“Yes, but why should they? She had a coat last night, a perfectly warm coat of brown cloth. She wouldn’t want another.”
“Perhaps her own got muddy when she fell. We’ll have to leave it at that for the moment. We’ll consider it later. Let’s get on now and hear what this lady can tell us. Yes, madam, if you please?”
“I am afraid there is not much more to be told. All five got into the car and drove off.”
“In which direction?”
“Eastwards.”
“That is to say, they have just left about half an hour. We were only fifteen minutes behind them, Mr. Cheyne.”
He got up to go, but the lady motioned him back to his seat.
“There is one other thing I have just remembered,” she said. “It may or may not have something to do with the affair. Last night—it must have been about half-past eleven—I heard a motor in the street. It stopped for about ten minutes, though the engine ran all the time, then went off again. I didn’t look out, but now that I come to think about it it sounded as if it might be standing at No. 12. Of course you understand that is only a guess, but motorcars are somewhat rare visitors to this street, and there may have been some connection.”
“Extremely probable, I should think, madam,” French commented. He rose. “Now we must be off to act on what you have told us. I needn’t say that you have placed us very greatly in your debt.”