“Well, I was going to the library. But I have plenty of time.”
“That’s fine. Then you can drive along with me for a while. I hate to drive all by myself with no one to talk to.”
“I don’t mind,” said Paul. “Where are you driving to?”
“That’s just it. No place in particular.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” said the detective, “we got a report about fifteen minutes ago that a car was stolen.” He brought a slip of paper out of his pocket and gave it to Paul. “Here,” he said, “look at it and then keep your eyes open. We will begin at one end of the town and ride through street by street. It may be that the owner parked it somewhere and forgot the place.”
Paul looked at the slip of paper. He read, “Ford ... four door sedan ... license number S 91 52.”
For a while they rode along talking of various things. They rode down one street and up the next street. Walters related some experiences of his as a detective. Finally he remarked, “By the way, the oddest thing happened to me yesterday. I was walking along and suddenly I noticed a man that was the exact image of George Wilson, the government agent. I was so astonished, I couldn’t imagine him being in town when two days ago I saw him off on the train.”
“Did you stop him?” demanded Paul excitedly. “Did you see where he went?”