“No, of course not,” said Crewe. “I’m very much obliged to you.” He produced half a crown and handed it to the man.
“Thank you, sir.” The unexpected amount of his reward had a stimulating effect. “I’ll tell you a strange thing about your friend, sir, now that I’ve had time to think about it. I hadn’t dug more’n a row, or perhaps a row and a half of my taters, when I seen him coming back again.”
“Coming back again?” exclaimed Crewe. “Surely not.”
“Yes, sir; the same grey car.”
“Driving back in the direction of Staveley?”
“Driving back along the road he’d come.”
“And this would be less than an hour after you saw him pass the first time?”
“Not more’n half-hour. I reckon it don’t take me full twenty minutes to dig a row o’ taters.”
“But the grey car I mean didn’t go back past here to Staveley,” said Crewe. “It was wrecked on Friday night about four miles from here in the direction of Ashlingsea.”
“That’s right,” exclaimed the man, with childish delight. “Didn’t I see it go past here noon Saturday—another car drawing it because it wouldn’t work. I said to myself, something’s gone wrong with it.”