As they descended the steps from the front door, the Inspector took a flash-lamp from his pocket and switched it on. Its rays merely served to light up the fog; and it was not until they came almost to the side of the car that they could see much. The Inspector bent across, rubbed his finger over the driving-seat, and then examined his hand in the light of the lamp.
“Some more blood there, sir,” he reported.
He cleaned away the marks on his finger-tip and proceeded to explore the other seats in the same manner. The results were negative. Apart from one or two spots on the running-board at the driving-seat door, the car seemed otherwise clean. Inspector Flamborough straightened himself up and turned to Sir Clinton.
“It seems that he must have driven the car back himself, sir. If someone else had done the driving, the blood would have been on some of the other seats instead of this one.”
Sir Clinton acquiesced with a gesture.
“I suppose that's possible, doctor? A wound in the lung wouldn't incapacitate him completely?”
Dr. Ringwood shook his head.
“It would depend entirely on the sort of wound it was. I see nothing against it, prima facie. Driving a car isn't really much strain on the body muscles.”
Sir Clinton ran his eye over the lines of the car in the light of the side-lamps.
“It's an Austin, so he'd be able to get the engine going with the self-starter, probably, even on a night like this. He wouldn't need to crank up the car. There would be no exertion on his part.”