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"Now, suppose I'd been a lady in a delicate state o' health you'd ha' made me very ill with your doings." "I wish I 'ad. 'Ere! 'Elp! 'Elp! Hi!" The man had seen a constable in uniform fifty yards ahead, where a lane ran into the road, and would have said more but that Hinchcliffe jerked her up that lane with a wrench that nearly capsized us as the constable came running heavily.
We were silent Hinchcliffe and Pyecroft through professional appreciation; I with a layman's delight in the expert; and our guest because of fear. At the edge of the evening she smelt the sea to southward and sheered thither like the strong-winged albatross, to circle enormously amid green flats fringed by martello towers. "Ain't that Eastbourne yonder?" said our guest, reviving.
This is makin' me feel religious." Our impetus carried us half-way up the next slope, where we steadied to a resonant fifteen an hour against the collar. "What do you think?" I called to Hinchcliffe. "'Taint as sweet as steam, o' course; but for power it's twice the Furious against half the Jaseur in a head-sea."
"If you don't believe me, come to Linghurst," was the burden of his almost national anthem. "But I can't run all over Sussex every time a blackmailer jumps up and says he is a policeman." "Why, it's quite close," he persisted. "'Twon't be soon," said Hinchcliffe. "None of the other people ever made any trouble. To be sure, they was gentlemen," he cried.
At the foot of the next hill the horse stopped, and the two men came out over the tail-board. My engineer backed and swung the car, ready to move out of reach. "The blighted egg-boiler has steam up," said Mr. Hinchcliffe, pausing to gather a large stone. "Temporise with the beggar, Pye, till the sights come on!"
When the search-party doubled back with the missing screw, it was Hinchcliffe who replaced it in less than five minutes, while my engineer looked on admiringly. "Your boiler's only seated on four little paperclips," he said, crawling from beneath her. "She's a wicker-willow lunch-basket below. She's a runnin' miracle. Have you had this combustible spirit-lamp long?" I told him.
From the foreside of the bulkhead came an uninterrupted hammering and clinking, and now and then a hiss of steam. "That's Mr. Hinchcliffe," said Pyecroft. "He's what is called a first- class engine-room artificer. If you hand 'im a drum of oil an' leave 'im alone, he can coax a stolen bicycle to do typewritin'." Very leisurely, at the end of his first pipe, Mr.
"Won't you want to fill your bunkers, or take water, or oil her up?" said Hinchcliffe. "We don't use water, and she's good for two hundred on one tank o' petrol if she doesn't break down." "Two hundred miles from 'ome and mother and faithful Fido to-night, Robert," said Pyecroft, slapping our guest on the knee. "Cheer up! Why, I've known a destroyer do less."
Morgan, our signaliser, when last seen, was a Dawlish bathing-machine proprietor. Hinchcliffe was naturally a German waiter, and me you behold as a squire of low degree; while yonder Levantine dragoman on the hatch is our Mr. Moorshed. He was the second cutter's snotty my snotty on the Archimandrite two years Cape Station.
Hinchcliffe, our chief engineer, a little time, it would never have transpired, for what Hinch can't drive he can coax; but the new port bein' a trifle cloudy, an' 'is joints tinglin' after a post-captain dinner, Frankie come on the upper bridge seekin' for a sacrifice. We, offerin' a broadside target, got it.
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