“Never seen it before to my knowledge.”
“You were here last night, though. Look, there's Ivy Lodge.”
“So I see by the name on the gate-post. But remember it's the first time I've seen the house itself. The fog hid everything last night.”
Sir Clinton swung the car to the left at the end of the avenue.
“We shan't be long now. It's a straight road out from here to the place we're bound for.”
As they reached the outskirts of Westerhaven, Sir Clinton increased his speed, and in a very short time Dr. Ringwood found himself approaching a long low bungalow which faced the sea-view at a little distance from the road. It had been built in the shelter of a plantation, the trees of which dominated it on one side; and the garden was dotted with clumps of quick-growing shrubs which helped to give it the appearance of maturity.
Inspector Flamborough stepped down from the back seat of the car as Sir Clinton drew up.
“The gate's not locked,” he reported, as he went up to it. “Just wait a moment, sir, while I have a look at the surface of the drive.”
He walked a short distance towards the house, with his eyes on the ground; then he returned and swung the leaves of the gate open for the car to pass.
“You can drive in, sir,” he reported. “The ground was hard last night, you remember; and there isn't a sign of anything in the way of footmarks or wheel-prints to be seen there.”