"They're in Worcester."
"Whereabouts in Worcester?"
"At the depôt."
"What depôt?"
"There's only one, isn't there?"
"Do you mean the station?"
"Sure. The station."
"They're in the Left Luggage place at the station in Worcester," said Mr. Molloy. He spoke almost cheerfully, for it had suddenly come to him that matters were not so bad as he had supposed them to be, and that there was still an avenue unclosed which might lead to a peaceful settlement. "And you've got the ticket in your pocket."
John stared.
"That ticket is for a bag my uncle sent the chauffeur to leave at Shrub Hill."