“It was mid-afternoon, I think. I was coming over the rise, taking in the view, and there was a house to my left. I saw a pump in the kitchen yard and I thought I might stop and refill my bottle. But no one was about, so I thought perhaps I’d come around the front and knock, rather than help myself. The view was rather nice, and I moved toward my right to see more of it, when I realized there was a road below the house, not just a lane. I didn’t remember that being on the rough map I had, so I stopped and dug in my gear for it, to be sure I wasn’t in the wrong place. I was walking and looking at the map when I saw a motorcar was stopped at the end of the high hedge surrounding the front garden. It seemed to me that the owner might have come up from Morecambe—it was that kind of motor, and it occurred to me that it would do no harm to ask for a lift. No one was around, so I sat down by a small shrub and ate the last of my biscuits, hoping he wouldn’t be long. I was just putting away my map when I could hear footsteps. And there he was, hurrying back to the motorcar. He was lame, finding it difficult to deal with the crank, but before I could collect my gear and hail him, the motor turned over, and he hobbled around to haul himself in. I didn’t like the look of the situation—he appeared to be angry or upset, not the time to ask favors. I just walked on, and thought no more about it, until I heard talk in the pub where I spent last night.”

“Did he see you?” Hadden asked.

“I have no idea. Probably not. I did notice that he glanced around, as if looking for something, but it all happened rather fast.”

“Where did he go from there?” Rutledge asked.

“He was driving east.”

“What can you tell me about the motorcar?”

“It was a black Rolls, well kept and quite clean. I hadn’t expected to see that out here.” He turned to Inspector Hadden, adding, “With no disrespect. But it was more the sort of vehicle you’d find in a city. It hadn’t been used to haul cabbages or saddles or hens.”

“And the man?” Rutledge said. He had more or less taken over the questioning, Hadden deferring to him.

“Lame, as I told you. Tall, slim. Darkish hair, military cut. Well dressed. Like the car, he seemed out of place here.”

“Was there a quarrel, do you think? Was that what had upset him?”