He reached the garage panting too heavily for speech, and, in answer to a challenge in Leyland’s voice, turned his own torch on himself for identification. Then, leaning wearily against the front of the lorry, he blurted out his explanations. “He’s gone—motor-car—toward Pullford—couldn’t stop him—better follow him up—didn’t look a fast car—lost him at the gorge—take me with you, and I’ll explain.”
“Yes, but curse it all, has he made for Pullford or for Lowgill? We must try Lowgill; we can telegraph from there, anyhow, and have him stopped. Hullo, who next?”
Angela had rushed in, hatless, to announce Breton’s cryptic observation about the car. She knew his mysterious moods, and felt that it was best to make straight for Leyland, especially as her car was the only fast one in the township. “Right you are,” she said, when the situation had been outlined to her; “I’ll drive you both into Lowgill; jump up.”
“Mr. Pulteney,” said Leyland, “do you mind going to the stables at the back of the inn to find my man who’s waiting there? Tell him what’s happened, say he’s to get onto the telephone, break into the post-office if necessary, and warn Pullford and Lowgill. He may just have time to head the man off. Oh, by the way, he won’t know who you are, may take you for Brinkman. Say, ‘Here we are again,’ loudly—do you mind?—when you’re outside the stable.”
“It will be a novel experience,” said Mr. Pulteney.
Chapter XXII.
At a Standstill
It was nearly eleven o’clock before Angela returned; and, since she resolutely refused to disclose anything about her movements unless Bredon divulged his theory, there were no explanations at all that night. “It’s not that I’m inquisitive,” she explained, “but I do want to break you of that bad habit of obstinacy.” “Well, well,” said Bredon, “if you choose to drag my name in the dust, not to mention my car, by these midnight expeditions, there’s no more to be said.” And no more was said.
They found Leyland already at breakfast when they came down. He had been up, he said, since six, making inquiries in every conceivable direction. “I must say,” he added, “it wasn’t Mrs. Bredon’s fault we didn’t catch our man last night.”
“The woman was reckless, I suppose, as usual?” asked Bredon.
“Oo, no,” said Angela in self-defence, “I only got her going a little.”