“Yes, certainly. Of course.” The voice was unexpectedly courteous. “I’m very sorry. Really, very sorry. It was all my fault.”

This display of contrition mollified Watchman.

“Oh well,” he said, “no harm done, I dare say. Come on.”

The man got out on the far side and walked round to the back of the car. When Watchman joined him he was stooping over the locked buffers.

“I can heave mine up if you don’t mind backing an inch or two,” said the man. With large callused hands he gripped the buffers of his own car.

“All right,” agreed Watchman.

They released the buffers without much trouble. Watchman called through his driving-window: “All clear!” The man lowered his car and then groped uncertainly in his pockets.

“Cigarette?” suggested Watchman and held out his case.

“Very kind,” said the man. “Coals of fire!” He hesitated and then took a cigarette.

“Light?”

‘I’ve got one, thanks.”

He turned aside and cupped his hands round the match, dipping his head with extravagant care as if a wind threatened the flame.

“I suppose you’re going to Ottercombe?” said Watchman.

He saw a flash of teeth.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it? I’m sorry I can’t let you through till then.”

“I shan’t be on your heels at the pace you travel,” grinned Watchman.

“No,” agreed the man, and his voice sounded remote as he moved away. “I’ll keep out of your way. Good night.”

“Goodnight.”

That ridiculous little car was as good as its driver’s word. It shot away down the lane and vanished over the brow of a steep drop. Watchman followed more cautiously and by the time he rounded the hill the other car had turned a further corner. He caught the distant toot of a horn. It sounded derisive.