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hired about four o’clock on the afternoon of that Monday, 22nd August, and returned next morning. Will you see them now? If so I’ll come along and show you the place.’

      They soon reached Fisher Street, where there was a large garage bearing the name: ‘The Stepney Motor Car Co.’ The superintendent, entering, asked for Mr Llewellyn.

      The proprietor looked thrilled when he learned French’s business.

      ‘By Jove! you don’t say that that crate was carried on my lorry!’ he exclaimed. ‘I read about its discovery and a dam’ good tale it made. How did you find out so much?’

      ‘I’ve not proved anything,’ French replied. ‘The whole thing is pure suspicion. But you may lead me to certainty. I’d be obliged if you would tell me what took place.’

      ‘Surely; I’ll tell you all I can, but it won’t be much.’ He opened a day-book and ran down the items. ‘The 22nd of August,’ he went on. ‘Yes, here it is. We hired out the lorry on that date. But it was ordered beforehand. We got a letter several days before from London from one of the big hotels, signed Stewart, asking if we had a breakdown lorry for hire, and if so, at what rate. It particularised one with a movable jib which would pick up a load from the ground and set it on the lorry table. The machine would be wanted on the afternoon of the 22nd for one day only. If we agreed, the writer’s man would call for it about four on that afternoon and would return it before midday on the 23rd. As the writer was a stranger he would be willing to deposit whatever sum we thought fair as a guarantee. The lorry was wanted to pick up a special machine which the writer was expecting by sea from London, and carry it to his place in Brecknock, where it was to be lowered on to a foundation. As it was part of an invention he was perfecting, he didn’t want any strangers about. He made it a condition therefore that his man would drive.

      ‘It wasn’t a very usual request, but it seemed reasonable enough, and of course it was none of my business what he wanted the machine for. At first I wasn’t very keen on letting it go, but I thought if he would pay a deposit of £300 and £5 for the hire, I should be safely covered. It was only a Ford ton truck with the crane added. I wrote him the conditions and he replied agreeing to the figure and asking that the lorry should be ready at the hour mentioned.

      ‘At the time stated a man came in and said he had been sent for the machine by his employer, Mr Stewart. He produced the three hundred pounds, and I gave him a receipt. Then he drove away.

      ‘Next day, about ten-thirty, he came back and said he had got done earlier than he expected. I had the lorry examined, and when I found it was all right I paid him back £295. He returned me my receipt, and went out, and that was all about it.’

      ‘It’s a pleasure to get a clear statement like that, Mr Llewellyn,’ French said, with his friendly smile, ‘and it’s surprising how seldom one does get it. There are just one or two further points I should like information on. Have you got those letters from the London hotel?’

      ‘No, I’m afraid they’re destroyed. They were kept until the transaction was finished and then burned.’

      ‘But you have the address?’

      ‘Mr John F. Stewart, St Pancras Hotel, London.’

      ‘You might give me the dates of the correspondence.’

      This also the owner was able to do, and French added them to his notes.

      ‘Can you describe the hand they were written in?’

      ‘They were typewritten.’

      ‘Purple or black ribbon?’

      Mr Llwellyn hesitated.

      ‘Black, I think, but I couldn’t be sure.’

      ‘Now about the driver. Could you describe him?’

      ‘He was a middling tall man, middling stout also. His hair was red and his complexion fresh, and he wore glasses.’

      ‘His dress?’

      ‘I could hardly describe it. He was dressed like a well-to-do labourer or a small jobbing contractor or something of that sort. He was untidy, and I remember thinking that he wanted a shave pretty badly. I took him for a gardener or general man about a country place.’

      ‘You couldn’t guess where he had come from by his accent?’

      ‘No, I couldn’t tell. He wasn’t a local, but that’s all I could say.’

      ‘The same man came back next day?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Had you any conversation with him on either occasion?’

      ‘No, except that he explained about lowering the machine on to the foundation, same as in the letter.’

      This seemed to French to be all he could get and after some further talk he and the superintendent took their leave.

      ‘He’s loaded up the crate here in Swansea at all events,’ French observed when they were in the street. ‘That seems to postulate docks and stations. I wonder if I can trespass still further on your good nature, Superintendent?’

      ‘Of course, I’ll send men round first thing tomorrow. It’s too late tonight; all the places would be shut.’

      ‘Thanks. Then I’ll turn up early in the morning.’

      At the nearest telegraph office French sent a message to the Yard to have inquiries made at the St Pancras Hotel as to the mysterious Mr John F. Stewart. Then, tired from his exertions, he returned to his hotel at Burry Port.

      Early next morning he was back in Swansea. It was decided that with a constable who knew the docks, he, French, was to apply at the various steamship offices, while other men were to try the railway stations and road transport agencies. If these failed, the local firms and manufacturers who usually sent out their products in crates were to be called on. French did not believe that the search would be protracted.

      This view speedily proved correct. He, had visited only three offices when a constable arrived with a message. News of the crate had been obtained at the Morriston Road Goods Station.

      Fifteen minutes later French reached the place. He was met at the gate by Sergeant Jefferies, who had made the discovery.

      ‘I asked in the goods office first, sir,’ the sergeant explained, ‘but they didn’t remember anything there. Then I came out to the yard and began inquiring from the porters. At the fifth shot I found a man who remembered loading the crate. I didn’t question him further, but sent you word.’

      ‘That was right, sergeant. We shall soon get what we want. This the man?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      French turned to a thick-set man in the uniform of a goods porter who was standing expectantly by.

      ‘Good day,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I want to know what you can tell me about that crate that was loaded up on a crane lorry about six weeks ago.’

      ‘I can’t tell you nothing about it except that I helped for to get it loaded up,’ the porter answered. ‘I was trucking here when Mr Evans came up: he’s one, o’ the clerks, you understand. Well, he came up and handed me a weighbill and sez: “Get out that crate,” he sez, “an’ get it loaded up on this lorry,” he sez. So I calls two or three o’ the boys to give me a hand and we gets it loaded up. An’ that’s all I knows about it.’

      ‘That’s all right. Now just take me along to Mr Evans, will you?’

      The man led the way across the yard to the office. Mr Evans was only a junior, but this fact did not prevent French from treating him with his usual courtesy. He explained that the youth had it in his power to give him valuable help for which he would be very grateful. The result was that Evans instantly became his eager ally, willing to take any trouble to find out what was required.

      The youth remembered the details of the case. It appeared that shortly after

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