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It was a big, black, black-dashed, tonneaued twenty-four horse Octopod; and it bore not only Kysh my friend, and Salmon his engineer, but my own man, who for the first time in our acquaintance smiled. "Did they get you? What did you get? I was coming into Linghurst as witness to character your man told me what happened but I was stopped near Instead Wick myself," cried Kysh. "What for?"
"I'll show it you at Linghurst," he retorted hotly "all the authority you want." "I only want the badge, or warrant, or whatever it is a plain-clothes man has to show." He made as though to produce it, but checked himself, repeating less politely the invitation to Linghurst.
Then was seen with what majesty the British sailor-man envisages a new situation. "Met gennelman heavy sheeway," said he. "Do tell me British gelman can't give 'ole Brish Navy lif' own blighted ste' cart. Have another drink!" "I didn't know they were as drunk as all that when they stopped me," I explained. "You can say all that at Linghurst," was the answer. "Come on." "Quite right," I said.
Don't you think I conned her like a cock-angel, Pye?" "I never saw anything like it," said our guest propitiatingly. "And now, gentlemen, if you'll let me go back to Linghurst, I promise you you won't hear another word from me." "Get in," said Pyecroft, as we puffed out on to a metalled road once more. "We 'aven't begun on you yet." "A joke's a joke," he replied.
"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.
The main road, white under the noon sun, lay broad before us, running north to Linghurst. We slowed and looked anxiously for a side track. "And now," said I, "I want to see your authority." "The badge of your ratin'?" Pyecroft added. "I'm a constable," he said, and kicked. Indeed, his boots would have bewrayed him across half a county's plough; but boots are not legal evidence.
I recall much that the wind bore to me of his words and the carrier's. It seemed as if the friendship of years were dissolving amid throes. "'Ave it your own silly way, then," roared the carrier, "an' get into Linghurst on your own silly feet. I've done with you two runagates." He lashed his horse and passed out of sight still rumbling.
Therefore, three miles short of Linghurst, I was less surprised than any one, excepting always my engineer, when the engines set up a lunatic clucking, and, after two or three kicks, jammed. "Heaven forgive me all the harsh things I may have said about destroyers in my sinful time!" wailed Hinchcliffe, snapping back the throttle. "What's worryin' Ada now?"
"But what I want to know is whether we'll succeed in acclimatisin' the blighter, or whether Sir William Gardner's keepers 'll kill 'im before 'e gets accustomed to 'is surroundin's?" Some day, I think, we must go up the Linghurst Road and find out. "WIRELESS" "It's a funny thing, this Marconi business, isn't it?" said Mr. Shaynor, coughing heavily.
"An' you a family man, too," muttered Pyecroft, swinging himself into the right rear seat. "Sure to be a remarkably hectic day when we meet." We adjusted ourselves and, in the language of the immortal Navy doctor, paved our way towards Linghurst, distant by mile-post 11-3/4 miles. Mr. Hinchcliffe, every nerve and muscle braced, talked only to the engineer, and that professionally.
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