The sergeant considered the suggestion and came to the conclusion it was probably correct. "Seems to me, sir, we'd better hurry up," he said gruffly. "Unless . Anyway, we've got to catch him, and that's all there is to it."
The car roared through a hamlet; the needle of the speedometer was creeping up.
"He won't have killed her yet," Amberley said. The sergeant had the impression that he was trying to reassure himself. "He daren't run the risk. Supposing he had a slight accident? Supposing he was held up, and the car was searched? If the girl's alive they can't get him for murder. He'll think of that. He's bound to think of that."
The sergeant agreed, though he felt a little dubious. In his experience murderers seldom laid such careful plans. However, the killing of Mark had certainly been very cleverly planned, so perhaps Mr. Amberley might prove to be right.
The lights of a village twinkled ahead of them; the car slowed to a more respectable pace, and the sergeant espied a constable on point duty at a crossroad in the middle of the main street.
Amberley pulled up beside him, but let the sergeant do the talking. The constable, unlike the one they had left in Upper Nettlefold, was an alert young man. Not many cars had come by him during the last hour, and he was almost sure that the only one of any size had been a Vauxhall limousine. But the number was not PV 80496.
That he could swear to. The Vauxhall he had seen bore the letters AX. He was not prepared to state the number, but he thought it began with a nine.
The sergeant looked inquiringly at Amberley. "Don't quite fit, sir."
"False number-plate. Probably no such number exists. Which way did the car go, Constable?"
"It turned off to the right, sir," replied the policeman, pointing.