“That’s all right, sir, there won’t be any difficulty about that. About how long might you be requiring the use of the garage for, sir?”
“Till nine o’clock—that’s your closing time, isn’t it? Any objections?”
“There ain’t no difficulty, sir, except that I’ve got to take my car out: I’ve got to meet a gentleman who’s coming down on the 8:40 train. But if I take it straight out, and don’t waste any time over it, that’ll be all right, won’t it? She’s all ready for starting.”
“Very well. Twenty minutes to nine—or I suppose you’ll want it about twenty-five to. Well, you may see us when you come back, or you may not. There’s nothing else, then.”
As the proprietor withdrew behind the door which led into the workshop at the back, Leyland and Pulteney took up their stand behind a hay-wagon which afforded them generous concealment. Even as they did so, a sudden wink of lightning illuminated the outlines of the garage and the road outside; it was followed by a distant sound of thunder. The wind had got up by now, and was moaning uneasily among the rafters of the building, which was no better than an open barn.
“Our performance could hardly have been better staged,” murmured the old gentleman. “I only regret the absence of a revolver. Not that I should have any idea how to use a lethal weapon, but it would give me more sense of derring do. It is singularly unfortunate that, even if I narrate the events of this evening to my pupils next term, they will not believe me. They suspect any information which comes from such a source. To you, I suppose, this is an everyday affair?”
“Don’t you believe it, Mr. Pulteney. Most of a detective’s life is spent sitting in an office filling up forms, like any bank clerk. I’ve got a revolver with me myself, but I’m not expecting any shooting. Brinkman doesn’t strike me as being that kind of customer.”
“Is it intended that I should precipitate myself upon the miscreant and overpower him, or where exactly do my services come in?”
Leyland was rather at a loss to answer. The truth was, he did not quite trust Mr. Pulteney, and he thought it best for that reason to keep him by his side. “Well,” he said, “two heads are better than one if it comes to a sudden alteration of plans. But there isn’t going to be any difficulty about catching our friend. If he comes out by the back, he’ll have my man shadowing him. If he should come out by the front, he will have Mr. Eames shadowing him. So he will be caught between two fires.”
“But it might be difficult for Mr. Eames to catch him if he were already in the motorcar and driving it.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Mr. Pulteney. I’ve fixed that car so that nobody’s going to get her to move unless I want him to. It’s the devil of a night, this. I hope Brinkman won’t funk it.”
They seemed, indeed, to be in the very centre of a thunderstorm, though it was nowhere quite close at hand. Every few seconds, from some unexpected quarter, the whole sky seemed to wink twice in rapid succession, and with the wink the roofs of Chilthorpe would suddenly stand out silhouetted, and a pale glare fell on the white road outside. Rain lashed upon the roof above them, and for a few minutes every gutter spouted and every seam in the tiles let in a pattering flood; then, without a word of warning, the rain would die down once more. Occasionally the lightning would manifest itself closer, great jagged streaks across the sky that looked as if they were burying themselves in the hill summits above the town. When the elements were at rest for a moment, there was an uncanny stillness on every side; not a dog barked, not a footstep clattered down the deserted street.
Attuned as their nerves were to the thunder, they both started as if in panic when the telephone bell rang. Leyland was at the instrument in a moment, and heard Angela’s cool voice asking for him at the other end.
“Is that you, Mr. Leyland? Brinkman has just left the hotel by the front door. … Yes, the front door. I didn’t see him myself, of course, but my husband said he came out quite coolly, just looking up at our window as if to see whether he was watched. Then I came straight to the telephone. I just looked in at the bar passage, and found that Mr. Eames was not there, so I suppose he has followed. Shall I give any message to the man at the back? Oh, all right. … Yes, he was carrying a despatch-box, which looks as if he would round up with you before long. … All right, we’ll expect you when we see you.”
“That sounds all right,” said Leyland to his companion. “We’d best take cover. Though why on earth the man came out by the front door—Gad, he must be a cool customer! To walk out with his bag from the front door, and wander in here asking for his car! Keep well behind the lorry, Mr. Pulteney. … Hullo, what’s that?”
The door of the workshop opened, and the proprietor appeared, drawing on a pair of motoring-gloves. “Sorry, sir, it’s twenty-five to; got to go and pick up my gent. Bad night for a drive, with the rain on your windscreen, and this lightning blinding you every other second.”
“Hurry up, man, get clear,” said Leyland impatiently. “He’ll be here in a moment. As you come back, you might stop at the Load of Mischief, because we may want a car.”
There was a drumming and a grinding, and the taxi bounded out on to the roadway. Leyland and Pulteney drew back behind the lorry, and
