“Change the number plate?” suggested Merriman with a smile.
“Change the number plate!” repeated Hilliard. “As I'm alive, that's exactly what he did. First on one side and then on the other. He changed the 4 to a 1. He took the 1 plates out of his pocket and put the 4 plates back instead, and the whole thing just took a couple of seconds, as if the plates slipped in and out of a holder. Then he hopped up into his place again and started off. What do you think of that?”
“Goodness only knows,” Merriman returned slowly. “An extraordinary business.”
“Isn't it? Well, that lorry went on out of sight. I waited there until after six, and four more passed. About eleven o'clock No. 6 with the clean-shaven driver passed out, loaded, so far as I could see, with firewood. That was the one that passed in empty at nine. Then there was a pause until half past two, when your friend returned with his lorry. It was empty this time, and it was still No. 1. But I'm blessed, Merriman, if he didn't stop at the same place and change the number back to 4!”
“Lord!” said Merriman tersely, now almost as much interested as his friend.
“It only took a couple of seconds, and then the machine lumbered on towards the mill. I was pretty excited, I can tell you, but I decided to sit tight and await developments. The next thing was the return of No. 6 lorry and the clean-shaven driver. You remember it had started out loaded at about eleven. It came back empty shortly after the other, say about a quarter to three. It didn't stop and there was no change made with its number. Then there was another pause. At half past three your friend came out again with another load. This time he was driving No. 1, and I waited to see him stop and change it. But he didn't do either. Sailed away with the number remaining 1. Queer, isn't it?”
Merriman nodded and Hilliard resumed.
“I stayed where I was, still watching, but I saw no more lorries. But I saw Miss Coburn pass about ten minutes later—at least I presume it was Miss Coburn. She was dressed in brown, and was walking smartly along the lane towards the road. In about an hour she passed back. Then about five minutes past five some workmen went by—evidently the day ends at five. I waited until the coast was clear, then went down to the lane and had a look round where the lorry had stopped and saw it was a double bend and therefore the most hidden point. I walked back through the wood to the bridge, picked up my taxi and got back here about half past seven.”
There was silence for some minutes after Hilliard ceased speaking, then Merriman asked:
“How long did you say those lorries were away unloading?”
“About four hours.”
“That would have given them time to unload in Bordeaux?”
“Yes; an hour and a half, the same out, and an hour in the city. Yes, that part of it is evidently right enough.”
Again silence reigned, and again Merriman broke it with a question.
“You have no theory yourself?”
“Absolutely none.”
“Do you think that driver mightn't have some private game of his own on—be somehow doing the syndicate?”
“What about your own argument?” answered Hilliard. “Is it likely Miss Coburn would join the driver in anything shady? Remember, your impression was that she knew.”
Merriman nodded.
“That's right,” he agreed, continuing slowly: “Supposing for a moment it was smuggling. How would that help you to explain this affair?”
“It wouldn't. I can get no light anywhere.”
The two men smoked silently, each busy with his thoughts. A certain aspect of the matter which had always lain subconsciously in Merriman's mind was gradually taking concrete form. It had not assumed much importance when the two friends were first discussing their trip, but now that they were actually at grips with the affair it was becoming more obtrusive, and Merriman felt it must be faced. He therefore spoke again.
“You know, old man, there's one thing I'm not quite clear about. This affair that you've discovered is extraordinarily INTERESTING and all that, but I'm hanged if I can see what business of ours it is.”
Hilliard nodded swiftly.
“I know,” he answered quickly. “The same thing has been bothering me. I felt really mean yesterday when that girl came by, as if I were spying on her, you know. I wouldn't care to do it again. But I want to go on to this place and see into the thing farther, and so do you.”
“I don't know that I do specially.”
“We both do,” Hilliard reiterated firmly, “and we're both justified. See here. Take my case first. I'm in the Customs Department, and it is part of my job to investigate suspicious import trades. Am I not justified in trying to find out if smuggling is going on? Of course I am. Besides, Merriman, I can't pretend not to know that if I brought such a thing to light I should be a made man. Mind you, we're not out to do these people any harm, only to make sure they're not harming us. Isn't that sound?”
“That may be all right for you, but I can't see that the affair is any business of mine.”
“I think it is.” Hilliard spoke very quietly. “I think it's your business and mine—the business of any decent man. There's a chance that Miss Coburn may be in danger. We should make sure.”
Merriman sat up sharply.
“In Heaven's name, what do you mean, Hilliard?” he cried fiercely. “What possible danger could she be in?”
“Well, suppose there is something wrong—only suppose, I say,” as the other shook his head impatiently. “If there is, it'll be on a big scale, and therefore the men who run it won't be over squeamish. Again, if there's anything, Miss Coburn knows about it. Oh, yes, she does,” he repeated as Merriman would have dissented, “there is your own evidence. But if she knows about some large, shady undertaking, she undoubtedly may be in both difficulty and danger. At all events, as long as the chance exists it's up to us to make sure.”
Merriman rose to his feet and began to pace up and down, his head bent and a frown on his face. Hilliard took no notice of him and presently he came back and sat down again.
“You may be right,” he said. “I'll go with you to find that out, and that only. But I'll not do any spying.”
Hilliard was satisfied with his diplomacy. “I quite see your point,” he said smoothly, “and I confess I think you are right. We'll go and take a look round, and if we find things are all right we'll come away again and there's no harm done. That agreed?”
Merriman nodded.
“What's the program then?” he asked.
“I think tomorrow we should take the boat round to the Lesque. It's a good long run and we mustn't be late getting away. Would five be too early for you?”
“Five? No, I don't mind if we start now.”
“The tide begins to ebb at four. By five we shall get the best of its run. We should be out of the river by nine, and in the Lesque by four in the afternoon. Though that mill is only seventeen miles from here as the crow flies, it's a frightful long way round by sea, most of 130 miles, I should say.” Hilliard looked at his watch. “Eleven o'clock. Well, what about going back to the Swallow and turning in?”
They left the Jardin, and, sauntering slowly through the well-lighted streets, reached the launch and went on board.
CHAPTER 4. A COMMERCIAL PROPOSITION