It was an Inspector of Police, speaking from Flail.

“I think we’ve got your case, sir.  Pigskin, seventeen inches by ten, an’ a blue line runnin’ acrost it?”

“That’s right,” I said excitedly.

“An’ it’s still locked.  No initials.  But we’d like your formal identification.  Besides....  I don’t know whether you could manage this afternoon, sir, but if you could....  You see, it’s a matter of a charge.  We’re detainin’ a man in connection with the thef’.”

“Oh, I don’t want to proceed.  So long as I get the case back....”

“’Fraid we can’t ’ardly do that, sir.”

I groaned.  Then—­

“How far is Red Abbey from Flail?”

“Matter o’ twelve mile, sir.  Wouldn’t take you no time in a car.”

“I’ll see what I can do.  Good-bye.”

Both cars were needed to meet incoming guests, but a Miss Doiran, who had arrived that morning in her own two-seater, offered to drive me to Flail and back before tea.

A quarter of an hour later we were on the road.

She listened attentively to the story of my loss.  When I had finished—­

“You’d little enough to go on, I must say.  I’d never have dared to say that man had stolen it.”

“It was a bow at a venture,” I admitted.  “But it seems to have come off.  All the same, I don’t want to charge the chap.  He deserves six months, if only for his cigar, but I’d rather somebody else sent him down.”

“I expect they’ll make you.  After all, it was a pretty smart capture, and the police’ll be fed to the teeth if you don’t go through with it.”

“Considering it was stolen in London, I didn’t see any sense in telling the police at Flail, but the station-master apparently knew his job.”

With a temporarily disengaged hand Miss Doiran caressed Nobby, who was seated between us.

“I’ve always wanted a Sealyham,” she sighed.

“You could have had one for nothing at three o’clock this morning.”

“Did he have you up?”

I nodded.

“And down and out.”  I sighed.  “It was a handsome night.  Very cold, though.  I thought of you all warm in bed.”

“What a wicked story!  You never knew of my existence.”

“I thought of everybody.  That embraced you.  It’s extraordinary how little women can wear without dying of exposure, isn’t it?”

Miss Doiran glanced at her sleeve.

“This coat is lined with chamois leather,” she said.  “I don’t know what more you want.”

“Yes.  But your stockings aren’t.  When you stepped into the car I was quite frightened for you.”

My companion’s chin rose, and she stared through the wind-screen with compressed lips.

“I’m as warm as toast,” she said defiantly.

“If you’re no warmer than the toast I had for breakfast this morning——­”

“You should get up earlier.”

“I thought I told you I was up and about at three.”