The Sea Mystery

his visit to themselves and immensely comforted Mrs. Burt by assuring her that she had told him little that he had not known before. Then saying he wished to have another word with the two outside men, he left the house and walked round the outbuildings.

At the back of the main house was a large walled yard with an old-fashioned stone-built well in the center and farm buildings along one side. Wheel tracks leading into one of these indicated that it was the garage, and there, polishing up some spare parts, was Coombe.

French repeated his explanation about having forgotten to ask Colonel Domlio a question, then, after chatting for some moments, he returned to the night of the tragedy. Putting up a bluff, he asked at what hours the colonel had taken out and brought back the car.

Coombe was considerably taken aback by the question and said at once that he knew nothing about it.

“But,” said French, in apparent surprise, “you must have known that the car was out?”

To his delight, the man did not deny it. Oh yes, he knew that, but he had not heard it pass and he didn’t know when it had left or returned.

“Then how did you know it had been out? Did Colonel Domlio tell you?”

“No, he didn’t say naught about it. I knew by the mud on the car and the petrol that had been used.”

“Pretty smart of you, that,” French said, admiringly. “So there was mud on her? Was she clean the night before?”

“No. He had her out in the afternoon and got her a bit dirty. But he said it was late and for me not to bother with her till the next day, and so I let her alone.”

“Naturally. And was much petrol gone?”

“ ’Bout two gallons.”

“Two gallons,” French repeated, musingly. “That would run her about forty miles, I suppose?”

“Easy that and more.”

“You live at the lodge gate, don’t you, Coombe?”

“That’s right.”

“Then the car must have passed you twice in the night. Surely you would have heard it?”

“I might not. Anyhow, I wouldn’t if she went out the back way.”

All this was excessively satisfactory to French. The theory he had formed postulated that Domlio had secretly run his car to the works on the night of the tragedy. And now it looked as if he had done so. At least, he had taken the car out. And not only had he denied it, but he had arranged that the machine should be left dirty so that the fresh mud it might gather should not show. Furthermore, the hour at which he returned exactly worked in.

For a moment French was puzzled about the quantity of petrol which had been used. Forty miles or more was enough for two trips to the works. Then he saw that to carry out the plan Domlio must have driven there twice. First he must have been at the works about ten to drug Gurney’s tea. Then he must have gone in about midnight with Berlyn and Pyke. So this also fitted in.

French, always thorough, interviewed Mee. But he was not disappointed when he found the man could tell him nothing. Keenly delighted with his progress, he renewed his directions to keep his visit secret, and took his leave.

XIV

French Turns Fisherman

On reaching the road, French returned to his clump of brushwood and once more concealed himself. He was anxious to intercept Domlio before he reached home and received the account of the afternoon’s happenings. A question as to the man’s nocturnal activities would be more effective were it unexpected.

Though French enjoyed moorland scenery, he had more than enough of this particular view as he sat waiting for the colonel’s appearance. Every time he heard a car he got up hopefully, only to turn back in disappointment. Again and again he congratulated himself that he had found a position which commanded the entrances of both front and back drives, or he would have supposed that his quarry had eluded him. For two hours he waited and then at last the green car hove in sight. He stepped forward with upraised arm.

“Sorry to stop you, Colonel,” he said, pleasantly, “but I have had some further information since I saw you and I wish to put another question. Will you tell me, please, where exactly you took your car on the night of the tragedy?”

The colonel was evidently taken aback, though not so much as French had hoped.

“I thought I had explained that I wasn’t out on that night,” he answered, with only a very slight pause.

“To be candid,” French rejoined, “that’s why I am so anxious to have an answer to my question. If there was nothing in the trip which would interest me, why should you try to hide it?”

“How do you know I was out?”

“You may take it from me, sir, that I am sure of my ground. But if you don’t care to answer my question I shall not press it. In fact, I must warn you that any answers you give me may be used against you in evidence.”

In spite of evident efforts the colonel looked uneasy.

“What?” he exclaimed, squaring his shoulders. “Does this mean that you really suppose I am guilty of the murder of Mr. Pyke?”

“It means this, Colonel Domlio. You’ve been acting in a suspicious way and I want an explanation. I’m not making any charges, simply, I’ve got to know. Whether you tell me now or not is a matter for yourself.”

“If I don’t tell you, does it mean that you will arrest me?”

“I don’t say so, but it may come to that.”

The colonel gave a mirthless laugh.

“Then I’m afraid I have no alternative. There is no mystery whatever about my taking out the car that night and I have no objection to telling you the whole thing.”

“But you denied that you had done so.”

“I did, and there I admit having made a foolish blunder. But my motive in doing