“But what did they want him for?” I asked. “Was it the hair tonic?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. It seems he picked up a car somewhere in Millport Saturday afternoon, drove it out here last night and hid it in the woods up the road. Then he came here to the house to pass the night.”
“You mean he stole a car—Oh, Michael, how terrible!” cried Eve.
“Well, it was bad luck for me, at any rate!”
“But surely you can prove that you didn’t take it,” I put in. “Surely it will be easy enough to clear yourself!”
“Well, I haven’t convinced ’em yet,” returned Michael sombrely. “You see it was this way. Seems somebody saw Bangs take the car around five o’clock that afternoon and turned in a report to the police. Said the thief had thick bushy hair and wore horn-rimmed glasses. The cops traced the car out this way somehow—they didn’t inform me how—and found it hidden in the woods. Then they came on to the house, broke in, and found me hiding in the hall closet, wearing a wig and spectacles. That’s all there is to it.”
“But didn’t you tell them?” I protested.
“Why, naturally! But it didn’t get me anywhere. They just laughed at me. Wanted to know what I was doing in the house and so forth. I told them about Bangs and that he was in the house too because I’d heard him come in just before. That was when I got into the closet. They pretended to make a search of the house but they didn’t find him. They didn’t expect to—they thought I was spoofing them.”
“Yeah and where was he—that’s what I’d like to know?” Hamish spoke for the first time since Michael had begun his story.
“I haven’t any idea—I suppose he was hiding somewhere.”