“Asphalt—laid down recent,” answered Pegge, promptly. “Runs all along the front of our stabling. Put down when Mrs. Tretheroe came and had things smartened up.”
“And what had you on your feet—what sort of shoes?”
“Pair of old tennis shoes that the housekeeper had given me,” replied Pegge. “Some gentleman had left ’em behind him.”
“Very well,” said Blick. “Go on. You stopped dead——”
“Stopped just where I was, stole in between the bushes, and looked into the drive. Then I see a man coming down it, from the side of the house, where there’s a door by which you can get out into the back gardens. He come right past me, walking on the grass path at the side of the gravel roadway.”
“You saw him clearly?”
“Considering it was night—a clear night, though—I see him as clearly as what I see you! That is—with a bit of difference, like.”
“You saw him clearly enough to know who he was?”
“I did!”
“Well?” asked Blick, eyeing his informant closely. “Who was he?”