“Good! How did Makepeace get hold of it?”
“When we came in after finding it I sent young Makepeace out for it. That’s the son. He couldn’t start it and he had to take out another car and tow it in. He took it to the garage for repairs and it has lain there ever since. Then when Mrs. Berlyn was leaving, Makepeace bought it from her. I understand he wants to sell it now.”
French rose.
“Good!” he said again. “Then let us go to this Makepeace and see if it is still there. You might introduce me as a friend who wants a secondhand car and who might take Mr. Berlyn’s. If possible we’ll get it out and do the same run that those men did that night. I want to get some times. Are you a driver?”
“Yes, I can handle it all right.”
The Makepeace garage was a surprisingly large establishment for so small a town. At least a dozen cars stood in the long low shed, and there were lorries and charabancs in the yard behind. Daw hailed a youth who was polishing the brasswork of one of the “charries.”
“Your father about, John?”
Mr. Makepeace, it appeared, was in the office, and thither the two men walked, to be greeted by a stout individual with smiling lips and shrewd eyes.
“ ’Morning, sergeant! Looking for me?”
The sergeant nodded. “This is a friend of mine,” he explained, “who is looking for a good secondhand car. I told him about Mr. Berlyn’s, but I didn’t know whether you had it still. We came across to enquire.”
“It’s here, all right, and I can afford to sell it cheap.” Mr. Makepeace turned to French. “What kind of machine were you wanting, sir?”
“A medium-size four-seater, but I’m not particular as to make. If I saw one I liked I would take it.”
“This is a first-rate car,” Mr. Makepeace declared, firmly. “One that I can stand over. But I’m afraid she’s not very clean. I was going to have her revarnished and the bright parts plated. She’ll be as good as new then. You can see her in the back house.”
He led the way to a workshop containing a variety of cars undergoing repairs. Just inside the door was a small dark-blue four-seater touring car, looking a trifle the worse for wear. To this he pointed.
“A first-rate car,” he repeated, “and in good order, too, though wanting a bit of a cleanup. As you can see, she’s a fifteen-twenty Mercury, two years old, but the engine’s as good as the day it was made. Have a look over her.”
French knew something of cars, though he was no expert. But by saying little and looking wise he impressed the other with his knowledge. Finally he admitted that everything seemed satisfactory, though he would require an expert’s opinion before coming to a decision.
“Could I have a run in it?” he asked. “I should, of course, pay for its hire. I want to go over to Tavistock, and if you could let me have the car it would suit. Mr. Daw says he will take half a day’s leave and drive me.”
Mr. Makepeace agreed with alacrity, and when he understood that his prospective customer was ready to start then and there, he put his entire staff on to “take the rough off her.” French stood watching the operation while he chatted pleasantly with the proprietor. Having duly admired the vehicle, he went on in a more serious voice:
“There’s just one thing that puts me against taking her, and that’s something that Mr. Daw told me in the course of conversation. He said that on that night when Mr. Berlyn met his death the car broke down, in fact that it was that breakdown which led indirectly to the accident. Well, I don’t want a car that breaks down. If she’s not reliable, she’s no good to me.”
Mr. Makepeace looked pained and flashed a rather indignant glance at the sergeant.
“She did break down that night,” he admitted, reluctantly, “but there’s no machinery on earth that won’t sometimes go wrong. She failed from a most uncommon cause, and she might run for twenty years without the same thing happening to her again.”
“I’m not doubting your word, Mr. Makepeace, but I shall want that clearly demonstrated before I think of her. What was it that went wrong?”
“Magneto trouble; armature burnt out.”
“What caused it?”
“It’s hard to say; there was no defect showing outwardly. Careless handling, most likely. Some darned mechanic might have jabbed a screwdriver into the wire and covered up the mark. I’ve known that to happen.”
“But it surely wouldn’t run if that had been done?”
“Oh yes, it might. If the insulation wasn’t completely cut through it would run for a time. But eventually the short would develop, causing the engine to misfire, and that would get worse till it stopped altogether.”
“That’s interesting. Then you think the fault would only develop if there had been some original injury?”
“I don’t say that. I have known cases of short circuits occurring and you couldn’t tell what caused them.”
“I suppose you could do that sort of thing purposely if you wanted to?”
“Purposely?” Mr. Makepeace shot a keen glance at his questioner.
“Yes. Suppose in this case someone wanted to play a practical joke on Mr. Berlyn.”
Mr. Makepeace shook his head with some scorn.
“Not blooming likely,” he declared. “A fine sort of joke that would be.”
“I was asking purely from curiosity, but you surprise me, all the same. I thought you could short circuit any electric machine?”
“Don’t you believe it. You couldn’t do nothing to short an armature without the damage showing.”
“Well, I’m not worrying whether you could or not. All I want is that it won’t fail again.”
“You may go nap on that.”
“All right,” French smiled. “Did you rewind the armature yourselves?”
“Neither unwound it nor rewound it. That’s a job for the makers. We sent it
