“You remember the man who brought it in? That’s capital!”
She shook her head.
“Not the man who brought it in,” she said. “That’s too long ago, but I do remember the man who took it out that night. You see, what with it being the night of the murder and such awful weather, added to the fact that my sister and her husband came over from Carlisle for the night, that evening seems to stand out more clearly than most. Then, there were very few people in and out that day, so that one noticed a stranger. Not that I really saw him, though, if you understand me.”
Fayre didn’t, but he showed exemplary patience and left her to tell her story in her own way.
“I can remember it as if it was yesterday,” she went on. “My sister was sitting at the desk with me, just chatting, and we watched him come in. As I say, he was the only one we’d had that afternoon and we were naturally interested and passed one or two remarks about him. He spoke about the car and then came over to the desk to pay his bill. What struck me was that he never took off his goggles. You know the way most people push them up on their foreheads, even if they don’t take them off, but he didn’t even take the trouble to do that. They were those big ones with the leather nose-flap and they pretty well covered his whole face. That’s why I said I’d never seen him, really. My sister joked about it afterwards.”
“What sort of man was he?” asked Fayre.
“Well-to-do, I should say. Tall and thin, and he had a big motoring coat and a cap with a peak. I remember that, because it and the goggles hid nearly the whole of his face.”
“You didn’t notice his voice, I suppose?”
“No. I don’t think he spoke except just to ask for the bill. He may not have done that. A lot of people just stand and wait till I give it to them. He must have given his name when he brought the car in because it’s down in the book there. Page, wasn’t it?”
Her husband nodded.