Then, as we sat together in the coffee-room of the hotel, eating a hasty meal, he remarked:
"We'll go back to Cromer to-night, but I shall go to town to-morrow. You'll wait till my return, won't you?"
So I was left alone for nearly a week; and on his return he announced that we must at once shift our quarters to Lowestoft. So south we went that same night, arriving at midnight, and putting up at the many-balconied Empire Hotel.
The town interested my companion not at all, but from there we went forth each day on long motor excursions, scouring the whole country as far south as Aldborough and as far west as Bury St. Edmunds. All the roads round Southwold, Bungay, Saxmundham, Stow Market, and many other towns we reconnoitred, apparently always with the same object—to discover wheel-tracks of a mysterious car.
The garages of every town Ray visited alone, but his inquiries always met with the same negative result.
Late one afternoon, however, when on the road between Wymondham and Diss, he suddenly shouted to the driver to stop, and jumping out, examined the track of wheels. The road, however, was hard at that spot, and it was some time before he could decide whether the car had travelled north or south.
"They've gone north!" he declared with satisfaction; therefore we continued to follow them towards Wymondham, where they had drawn up at the "Old Green Dragon," and gone forth again, striking into a by-road which led to Bracon Ash.
"Ha!" he cried, when he saw this, "so they're busy at work—that's plain!"
But by this time the light had faded, and much to our chagrin we were again compelled to give up the hunt, and find our way over by Hempnall, and so through Bungay back to Lowestoft.
Next day we were early back again at the spot, but heavy rain had unfortunately fallen all night, so the tracks had been obliterated.