It did, for I am convinced that his
description of the machine tallies closely with that of Mr.
Warrington's."
"How about the man who drove it?" cut in Garrick.
"That's the unfortunate part of it," replied McBirney, chagrined.
"These amateur detectives about the country rarely seem to have
any foresight. Of course they could describe how the fellow was
dressed, even the make of goggles he wore. But, when it came to
telling one feature of his face accurately, they took refuge
behind the fact that he kept his cap pulled down over his eyes,
and talked like a 'city fellow.'"
"All of which is highly important," agreed Garrick. "I suppose
they'd consider a fingerprint, or the portrait parle the height of
idiocy beside that."
"Disgusting," ejaculated McBirney, who, whatever his own
limitations might be, had a wholesome respect for Garrick's new
methods.
"Where did you leave the car?" asked Garrick of Warrington. "How
did you lose it?"
The young man seemed to hesitate.
"I suppose," he said at length, with a sort of resigned smile,
"I'll have to make a clean breast of it.
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