"One moment," said Jonah steadily. "Without looking at the dash, tell me
your chassis number. Your chauffeur should know it."

"One double seven eight," came parrot-wise from the lips of the
gentleman referred to.

"Thank you," said Jonah.

Grey Hat almost ran to the Rolls, tore open the bonnet, and stared at
the dash--stared....

We waited in a silence so charged with expectancy as to be almost
unbearable.

At last the Chief Constable straightened his back. His eyes were bulging
and his face redder than ever. Twice he essayed to speak without
success. Then--

"I said it was my car," said Jonah placidly.

For a moment Grey Hat stood glaring at him. Then, muttering something
about "a mistake," he started to lurch towards the police car. As the
officers turned shamefacedly to follow their chief, Jonah's parade voice
rang out.

"Stop!" At the word of command, master and men alike stood still where
they were. "My friends and I have been openly accused of felony and
threatened with arrest."

The Chief Constable swallowed before replying.