"Did you, indeed?" I took him up. "Then let me tell you at once that the wreckage in the workshop's yard was not my small car, so you may abandon any hopes you had built upon that."
He appeared to be surprised at the attitude I adopted.
"No," he said slowly—"no, I knew that wasn't your car."
I thought rapidly. "It was yours," I hazarded, "and your idea was to re-equip that battered wreck at the expense of my very slightly injured property?"
He smiled shamelessly.
"You are a most unscrupulous officer," I said, "and I'm beginning to think you are the voice which gets me out of bed—I mean, interrupts my work—every morning at dawn."
"No, really," he replied, glad to have something to be honest about. "At that hour I am always in—at work myself."
We shook hands again on that and I offered him a cigarette.
"Have one of mine," said he.
"No, no," I pressed; "you have one of mine."