The driver had come out of the shed, the same dark, aquiline-featured
man as had passed him on the bridge. He had stopped and was staring
at Merriman with an intense regard in which doubt and suspicion
rapidly changed to hostility. For a moment neither man moved, and
then once again the girl's voice broke in.

"Oh, there is father," she cried, with barely disguised relief in
her tones. "Come, won't you, and speak to him."

The interruption broke the spell. The driver averted his eyes and
stooped over his engine; Merriman turned towards the girl, and the
little incident was over.

It was evident to Merriman that he had in some way put his foot in
it, how he could not imagine, unless there was really something in
the matter of the number plate. But it was equally clear to him
that his companion wished to ignore the affair, and he therefore
expelled it from his mind for the moment, and once again following
the direction of her gaze, moved towards a man who was approaching
from the far end of the shed.

He was tall and slender like his daughter, and walked with lithe,
slightly feline movements. His face was oval, clear skinned, and
with a pallid complexion made still paler by his dark hair and eyes
and a tiny mustache, almost black and with waxed and pointed ends.
He was good-looking as to features, but the face was weak and the
expression a trifle shifty.

His daughter greeted him, still with some perturbation in her manner.