"Proceed, my dear sir, with your trivial narrative," invited Jelfs,
a man sitting at one end of the group. "We shall give it the
weighty consideration which it doubtless deserves."

Jelfs was a stockbroker and the professional wit of the party. He
was a good soul, but boring. Merriman took no notice of the
interruption.

"It was between five and six in the evening," he went on, and he
told in some detail of his day's run, culminating in his visit to
the sawmill and his discovery of the alteration in the number of
the lorry. He gave the facts exactly as they had occurred, with
the single exception that he made no mention of his meeting with
Madeleine Coburn.

"And what happened?" asked Drake, another of the men, when he had
finished.

"Nothing more happened," Merriman returned. "The manager came and
gave me some petrol, and I cleared out. The point is, why should
that number plate have been changed?"

Jelfs fixed his eyes on the speaker, and gave the little sidelong
nod which indicated to the others that another joke was about to
be perpetrated.

"You say," he asked impressively, "that the lorry was at first 4
and then 3. Are you sure you haven't made a mistake of 41?"

"How do you mean?"