‘Well?’ Prenderby looked pained and surprised. ‘Aren’t I helping you? Isn’t this a most helpful point?’
Abbershaw glanced at him sharply.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said.
Prenderby stared at him.
‘Why, the car, of course,’ he said. ‘What else could it be? The car,’ he went on, as they regarded him uncomprehendingly for a moment or so. ‘The car. The incredible museum specimen in which that precious medico carted off the poor old bird’s body. There it was, sitting up looking at me like a dowager-duchess.’
CHAPTER XXVI
‘Cherchez la Femme’
‘If you’d only keep quiet,’ said Michael Prenderby, edging a chair between himself and the vigorous Martin who was loudly demanding particulars, ‘I’ll tell you all about it. The garage is half-way down the Lea Bridge Road, on the left-hand side not far past the river or canal or whatever it is. It’s called “The Ritz” – er – because there’s a coffee-stall incorporated with it. It’s not a very big place. The usual type – a big white-washed shed with a tin roof – no tiles or anything. While the chap was fixing the plug the doors were open, so I looked in, and there, sitting in a corner, a bit like “Dora” and a bit like a duchess, but unmistakably herself, was Colonel Coombe’s original mechanical brougham.’
‘But are you sure?’
Martin was dancing with excitement.
‘Absolutely positive.’ Prenderby was emphatic. ‘I went and had a look at the thing. The laddie in the garage was enjoying the joke as much as anyone. He hadn’t had time to examine it, he said, but he’d never set eyes on anything like it in his life. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think I’d wait and see the fellows without telling you because I didn’t know what schemes you were hatching, so I told the garage man that I’d like to buy the bus as a museum piece. He told me that the people who brought it in were coming back for it some time tonight and he’d tell them. I thought we’d get down there first and be waiting for them as they came in. Of course the old car may have changed hands, but even so –’