CHAPTER THREEConsultation
A small car came into view from the direction of the Radford garage, skirted a driveway which had conveniently been left outside the fence, and approached the highway; Clara, as she turned up the road that led past the cottage, was hailed by its driver in a loud, friendly voice: “You Mrs. Gamadge? You Miss Radford’s summer tenant?”
Clara stopped, faced him, and said yes, she was. He was a spruce young man, red-skinned and round-headed, with a small black mustache. He leaned out of his car window, his straw hat on the back of his head: “Want to ride up to the cottage?”
“No thanks, I need the walk.”
“Nothing wrong with your car, I hope? Need gas or tires? I run a garage in Avebury, and I could fix you up.” He winked, and then added reassuringly: “Miss Radford’s
