夜雨聆风Oh—er—I say—er—c-could I speak to you a minute?” It was George Bart-lett who thus waylaid the two men. Colonel Melchett, who was not attrac-ted to Mr. Bartlett and who was anxious to see how Slack had got on withthe investigation of the girl’s room and the questioning of the chamber-maids, barked sharply:
“Well, what is it—what is it?”
Young Mr. Bartlett retreated a step or two, opening and shutting hismouth and giving an unconscious imitation of a fish in a tank.
“Well—er—probably isn’t important, don’t you know—thought I oughtto tell you. Matter of fact, can’t find my car.”
“What do you mean, can’t find your car?”
Stammering a good deal, Mr. Bartlett explained that what he meant wasthat he couldn’t find his car.
Superintendent Harper said:
“Do you mean it’s been stolen?”
George Bartlett turned gratefully to the more placid voice.
“Well, that’s just it, you know. I mean, one can’t tell, can one? I meansomeone may just have buzzed off in it, not meaning any harm, if youknow what I mean.”
“When did you last see it, Mr. Bartlett?”
“Well, I was tryin’ to remember. Funny how difficult it is to rememberanything, isn’t it?”
Colonel Melchett said coldly:
“Not, I should think, to a normal intelligence. I understood you to sayjust now that it was in the courtyard of the hotel last night—”
Mr. Bartlett was bold enough to interrupt. He said