“The two men, Douglas Winton and his friend, came here in a motor-car,” I remarked. “They had evidently been waiting somewhere near the line, in order to pick up the stolen bag.”
“Without a doubt, sir,” exclaimed the inspector. “Their actions here, according to what Miss Hammond told me this morning, were most suspicious. It’s a pity that the boots did not communicate with us.”
“Yes, Mr. Deane,” said the man referred to, “I’m very sorry now that I didn’t. But I felt loath to disturb people at that hour of the morning.”
“You took no note of the number of either of the three cars which came, I suppose?”
“No. We have so many cars here that I hardly noticed even what colour they were.”
“Ah! That’s unfortunate. Still, we shall probably pick up some clue to them along the road. Somebody is certain to have seen them, or know something about them.”
“This gentleman here knows something about them,” remarked the manageress, indicating myself.
The inspector turned to me in quick surprise, and no doubt saw the surprise in my face.
“I—I know nothing,” I managed to exclaim blankly, at once realizing the terrible pitfall into which I had fallen.
“But you said you knew Mr. Lewis—the gentleman who acted as president of that mysterious conference!” Miss Hammond declared, in all innocence.