“Well, here it is, sir,” he said, “such as it is. I was just coming in to report.”
The superintendent walked round the machine, his shoulders hunched. There it was indeed, a nondescript four-seater Morris Twelve which had been someone’s pride in 1929 and was still serviceable. The most irritating thing about it was its cleanliness. There were certainly a few traces of vegetable litter in the back, but the leather upholstery had been recently scrubbed and the paint positively scraped. Also, which was even more depressing, it possessed four new tires.
Oates said something under his breath, nodded to the man and came out into the yard again. He looked at Campion.
“I hate this kind of outfit,” he said. “Did you see anyone in that house except those two and the waiter?”
“No,” said Campion.
