The Dartmoor Enigma by Basil Thomson Page A

her.”
    â€œWho was that?”
    â€œI’m sure I dunno who he was. The young lady called him ‘Dick.’ He said that her brother was laid up in Moorstead, but that as soon as he got better he’d come down and drive her away.”
    Richardson picked up the thread of the conversation. “We were wondering what sort of a driver the man was who brought her in.”
    The mechanic laughed sourly. “I’ll show you the kind of driver he was. See that door?” He pointed to the wooden gate through which vehicles had to drive. “See that scar in the paint? He made that bringing her in. He took the turn too short out of the street and grazed the lamp-post with his bumper, and then lost his head and went into my gate. If I hadn’t shouted to him to stop he’d have scraped the gate on the other side, too. He got down then and let me drive her in. It’s my belief that it was the first time in his life he’d ever had a steering-wheel in his hand.”
    â€œWhat sort of man was he to look at?”
    â€œOh, a wiry sort of chap of about forty, I should say. I’d have put him down as a garage mechanic to judge by the state of his hands if it hadn’t been for the way he drove the car in.”
    â€œWell, we’ll let Mr. Duke know that his car’s ready and I dare say he’ll be along to fetch her. What day was it they left her?”
    â€œShe’s been here ten days. I understood she was to have been fetched away the next day.”
    â€œWell, we’ll remind him about it. Good day.”
    The two officers stopped a moment to consult before they reached the car.
    â€œTen days,” said Richardson; “that brings us to the day of the murder, but it doesn’t bring us any nearer to Pengelly, for what would he be doing with a walking-stick in the driving-seat of that little runabout, encumbered by that young woman?”
    â€œBut why did she tell lies about it? Why didn’t she own up that Pengelly drove her into Tavistock?”
    Richardson pointed mutely to a deep scratch on the paintwork of the lamp-post and to the scar on the garage gate. “If you’d been sitting beside a man who’d never driven a car in his life before and had no licence you wouldn’t boast about it, would you?”
    â€œAh! Then you think that she was afraid it would come out that Pengelly was driving without a licence?”
    â€œYes, and I think, too, that he avoided taking the direct route through Duketon for fear of being stopped by the local constable. That’s why he drove through Sandiland into Tavistock.”
    â€œYou don’t think there was any more serious reason for that girl lying to us?”
    â€œAt present I don’t, but if we can find Pengelly in Rowe’s Quarry, we may get down to something like the truth.” He gave the order to the police driver to take them to Rowe’s Quarry.

Chapter Five
    R OWE’S QUARRY was a much more extensive place than the little quarry near Moorstead. It had been worked for many years; the grey granite of which it is composed is to be found all over the district in churches, public halls and private houses, because it is the hardest and most durable stone in the west of England.
    A foreman met the two detectives at the gate, which he opened a little unwillingly in response to Richardson’s assurance that they were police officers come to make inquiries. The foreman led the way to his office, which was partitioned off from one of the sheds where the stone-dressing was done. Conversation had to be conducted to the musical ring of steel upon steel.
    â€œHave you taken on recently a quarry-smith called Dick Pengelly?”
    â€œNot as a quarry-smith, but I’ve taken on trial a man of that name as a smith’s striker and he’s shaping very well.”
    â€œCan we have a few words with him?”
    â€œYes, but don’t keep him too long. We happen to be full up