“Yes. It didn’t come back.”
He was looking through the back pages of the book.
“Here it is. It came in on March 14th, and was fetched out on March 23rd. It’s a pity we haven’t got the number. I’ll see if my wife remembers anything about it and I can show you the other car on the way.”
He led the way to a somewhat weather-beaten, but still presentable, Daimler and Fayre gave the mud-guards a keen, but hasty, scrutiny.
“You haven’t had this repaired at all lately, I suppose?” he asked. “My friend’s pretty certain that he injured the paint on the mud-guard.”
“Haven’t had this touched for over a year. Besides, it was all right when the doctor brought it back. I always look over them pretty carefully, even when it’s a customer I know who’s had them out. You never know what damage you’ll find. No, I’ll vouch for it that car hasn’t been messed up in any way since I’ve had it.”
He went off to find his wife, leaving Fayre battling with mingled feelings of relief and disappointment. Search as he might, he could find no trace of red paint on any of the mud-guards and they were quite intact. He seemed to have run into a blind alley, after all, unless the doctor were even cleverer than he had supposed. It was still within the bounds of possibility that he had changed cars again after leaving the garage in the hireling. If so, where? Fayre made up his mind to find that second car, if there was one, even if he had to search every garage in the county.
His thoughts were broken into by the arrival of the manager and his wife.
“It’s no good, I’m afraid,” he announced. “The wife, here, says she can’t recall the number, even if she ever noted it, which is doubtful, seeing that she forgot to put it down. She says she does remember the owner, though, if that’s any use to you.”
Fayre started.