"'That car don't belong here,' says he. 'There's no number of the maker
on it, and everything that would serve to identify it has been taken
off. Besides, I don't think the license number is on the square.'
"That excited my curiosity, and I called up the license collector's
office and asked him whose motor car No. 118 was. In a few minutes he
calls me and says it belongs to Mr. Henry Inchcliffe, the banker. I gets
Mr. Inchcliffe on the phone and asks him if his car is missing, and he
says he can look out of the window as he is talking and see it beside
the curb with his wife sitting in it. 'What is the color of your car?'
says I. 'Dark green, picked in crimson. Why do you ask?' says he. I
tells him that an abandoned car is standing in front of our place with
his number on it. But he says he guesses not, for his number looms up
like a sore thumb, hanging on the axle of his car in front of the bank,
and I rings off. That's the story of the car."
"Since it belongs to no one in particular, I've a mind to borrow it, and
put it in a garage over on the other side.
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