Chapter IX

Some forty miles away a distracted and wrathful young man was telephoning to the police. “. . . a brown leather valise. R.T. on both sides. . . . Eh? I _told_ you—hours ago I told you. Listen, write it down, will you: a brown leather valise. It was strapped on the back of my machine. It had an evening dress suit, safety-razor outfit, and—well the usual fixings. And a suit of pyjamas.” Robin grew conversational as the car jogged along. “The pyjamas were rather superfluous—I chucked them into a field. I’m sorry now; …