unch he had
ordered for one o'clock was ready, his habit of handling men had stood
him in good stead. "Mr. Frampton of London" had paid for drinks, told
half-a-dozen good stories, laughed at a score of bad ones, asked many
innocent questions, and deftly given the impression that he was a London
business man in search of a few weeks' rest from overstrain. Moreover,
he had gained some knowledge of the lay of the country and acquaintances
who might be useful. One never knew.

The afternoon saw him tramping through the picturesque countryside, with
its drooping hills and wooded valleys. He moved as one careless of time,
whose only object was to see the country. Once he stayed to talk with a
stone-breaker by the side of the wood; once he led a farmer's restive
horse and trap by a traction engine. On both occasions he contrived to
drop a good deal of information about himself, and his reasons for being
in that part of the country. That it was false was little matter. The
best way to stop local gossip is to feed it. A mysterious quiet stranger
would be speculated about, the amiable business man from London with a
love of chat was quite unlikely to arouse suspicions.

Sooner or later Grell, if he were in the neighbourhood, would learn of
the presence of Green and Malley. His attention would be concentrated on
what they were doing. Foyle, acting independently, was looking for an
opening to attack from the rear. He had a great opinion of Grell's
capacity for getting out of awkward situations.

He sauntered through Dalehurst, stopping at a little general store to
buy some tobacco and gather more gossip. The village shop invariably
focuses village gossip. A garrulous old dame talked at large with the
affable stranger, and when the superintendent emerged he was certain
that Chief Inspector Green and those acting with him had succeeded in
maintaining an adequate discretion in regard to the events of the
preceding night.

As Foyle passed on, he observed a man hurrying towards him and
recognised Malley. Abruptly the superintendent turned his back and,
leaning his arms upon a low stone wall, seemed lost in contemplation of
a little churchyard. When the divisional inspector had passed on, Foyle
resumed his walk.

It cost him some little trouble to find the road in which the motor-car
had been left derelict. The sodden earth still retained wheel tracks,
and it needed but a glance to show that the car had been removed but a
few hours