Not until he was seated beside Amberley in the car did the sergeant speak again. Then he said: "If it was murder are you going to let it go at that, sir?"
"Did I say it was murder?" said Amberley.
The big Bentley tore through the town but slowed as it drew clear of the last straggling houses. The ground dipped here, and they ran into a thick mist which grew denser as the road approached the river.
"Steady, sir!" besought the sergeant. "Get a lot of fog here at this time of the year. It's the clay."
"Yes. You could almost bank on running into fog, couldn't you?"
A little farther along the road they saw a figure loom up through the mist, waving. Amberley ran the car into the side of the road and stopped. The mist was floating in wreaths across the glare of the headlights; through it they could see the blurred outline of a second man and of a figure lying face downwards on the ground.
The sergeant got out of the car as quickly as his bulk would permit. "Is that you, Tucker? How did this happen?"
Mr. Amberley suddenly put up his hand to his spotlamp and switched it on. Its beam swung to the left and rested on the second man. It was Collins, dripping wet, and in his shirt-sleeves. "How very interesting!" said 1VI r Amberley, and got out of the car.
The sergeant strode up to Collins. "And what miglü you be doing here, my man?" he inquired.
The valet's face was grey; sweat stood on his forehc;i& he seemed exhausted.