The man touched the paint with his finger.
“You’ll find the doctor in, sir, and this will come off easily enough while it’s fresh,” he said. “Lucky it’s still wet.”
He went into the garage and came out with a tin of petrol.
“If you’d got such a thing as a clean rag,” suggested Fayre.
“If you’ll wait a minute, sir, I’ll get one from the kitchen.”
He disappeared round the corner of the house and, as he did so, Fayre darted into the garage. It needed only a glance to see that there was room for but one car and that a small one. Fayre cast a quick look round the tiny garage and then made for a file of bills hanging from a hook against the wall. With one eye alert for the returning chauffeur he ran through them swiftly. Knowing the ways of small cars when left to the care of odd-jobmen he hoped that Gregg might on occasion be driven to hire a car from the local garage and there was a faint chance that the garage bill might be on this file. Fortunately for him it was not only there but near the top of the pile and he found it almost immediately. It took him but a second to find the entry he needed.
“March 23rd. To hire . . . . . . . . . . . . £0. 10”
He slipped back into the yard just in time and was standing by the car, ruefully regarding his coat when the doctor’s man returned.
“If you’ll let me have the coat, sir, I’ll have it off in a moment,” he said, as he unscrewed the can of petrol.
While he was at work on the stain Fayre examined the car.