‘And you say the garage man was friendly?’ said Abbershaw.
‘Oh, perfectly,’ said Prenderby, with conviction. ‘I think we can count on him. What exactly is our plan of campaign?’
Martin spoke airily.
‘We just settle down and wait for the fellows, and when they come we get hold of them and make them talk.’
Abbershaw looked dubious. Now that he was back in the civilization of London he was inclined to feel that the lawless methods of Black Dudley were no longer permissible, no matter what circumstances should arise. Martin had more of the adventurous spirit left in him, however. It was evident that he had made up his mind about their plan of campaign.
‘The only thing these fellows understand is force,’ he said vigorously. ‘We’re going to talk to ’em in their mother tongue.’
Abbershaw would have demurred, but at this moment all conversation was suspended by their sudden arrival at the garage. They found ‘The Ritz’ still open, though business even at the coffee-stall was noticeably slack.
As soon as the car came to a standstill, a loose-limbed, raw-boned gentleman in overalls and a trilby hat came out to meet them.
He regarded them with a cold suspicion in his eyes which even Prenderby’s friendly grin did not thaw.
‘I’ve come back to see about the old car I wanted to buy –’ Prenderby began, with his most engaging grin.