CHAPTER SEVENTEENBy Tuesday Inspector Bull was no farther along towards a solution of the Colnbrook Outrage than he had been when he and Mr. Pinkerton discussed the matter Saturday evening.
“If there was a motorcycle,” Bull explained to Commissioner Debenham, “it managed to disappear without a sign.”
“How about the old lady in Cranford, Bull?”
Bull grimaced.
“She saw a man with a leather helmet go by about twenty minutes to ten. But the sergeant there says she’s a noted liar, sir. He says she’s been eyewitness to every misdemeanour within three miles for the last twenty years; when they run her down she was at church or drinking tea in her kitchen. He says she goes to bed at seven-thirty anyway. That’s no good, sir. Then the garage man at the London end of the bypass couldn’t remember
