At a half past ten Inspector Harding got his car out of the garage at the Crown and started to drive to the police station, where he was to pick up the Sergeant. As he emerged from the inn-yard, sounding his horn, a damsel in a severe linen coat and skirt, and a shirt-blouse with a tie, drew hastily back on to the kerbstone. Inspector Harding recognised Miss Fawcett, and promptly put on his brakes.
"Hullo!" said Dinah. "It's you!"
"Hullo!" returned Harding. "Are you escaping from the clutches of the Inquisition, or just shopping?"
"Shopping. If it weren't for a little matter concerning a licence for my wireless I could face you with a limpid conscience."
He laughed. "Wireless licences don't come under my jurisdiction, you'll be relieved to hear."
"I didn't think they would. I expect you're too big a pot," said Miss Fawcett naively.
"How nice of you!" he said, with a twinkle. "I'm glad you're not escaping."
"Couldn't if I wanted to. The dam' car's just died on me," said Dinah gloomily. "She was giving trouble all the way here — its a rotten little runabout Arthur used to let Fay drive — and she finally conked out in the middle of the High Street. Like a fool, I let the engine stop when I was in a shop, and of course, she wouldn't start again. So there she is, complete Wreck of the Hesperus, waiting for the garage people to take her away and burn her, for all I care. Look here, I mustn't stop: I've got to catch a bus to the station."
"Wait a minute, I'll take you to the station, if you promise not to vanish on the first train."
"Thanks awfully," said Dinah. "I call that handsome I'm not doing a bunk, I swear. All I want to do is to catch Peacock with the big car, so that I can get home. He's gone to meet Mr. Tremlowe on the ten-fifty, you know."