“I noticed a second track of motor-wheels on the road at one point as I came along. It faded out as I got nearer here, so I thought you might have gone back for something or other.”
“That would have made three tracks, and not two; one out, one back, and a final one out again.”
“So it would,” Wendover admitted, evidently vexed at having made a mistake.
“We'll have a look at that track later on,” Sir Clinton promised. “I took care not to put my own tracks on top of it as we came along.”
“Oh, you saw it, did you?” said Wendover disappointedly. “Confound you, Clinton, you seem to notice everything.”
“Easy enough to see the track of new non-skids on a wet road, especially as I didn't see my own track while I was making it. We'll have no trouble in disentangling them, even if they do cross here and there, for my tyres are plain ones, and a bit worn at that. I think I ought to mention that our patrols report no traffic on the road since they came on to it; and, as I remember that there was no rain in the early evening, that gives us some chance of guessing the time when that car made its tracks in the mud.”
“The rain came down about half-past eleven,” the inspector volunteered as he finished his sketch. “I heard it dashing on my window just after I'd gone to bed, and I went up stairs about twenty past eleven.”
Sir Clinton held out his hand for the inspector's note-book, compared the diagram with the view before him, and passed the book to Wendover, who also made a comparison.
“Better initial it, squire,” the chief constable suggested. “We may need you to swear to its accuracy later on, since we'll have no visible evidence left after this tide's come in.”
Wendover obeyed, and then returned the note-book to the inspector as they began to descend from the dune towards the road. Halfway down, Sir Clinton halted.