Part 24 (2/2)
”Leaving car unattended. An infernal swindle, when you think of the loose carts outside every pub in the county. I was jawing with the police for an hour, but it's no use. They've got it all their own way, and we're helpless.”
Hereupon I told him my tale, and for proof, as we topped the hill, pointed out the little group round my car.
All supreme emotion is dumb. Kysh put on the brake and hugged me to his bosom till I groaned. Then, as I remember, he crooned like a mother returned to her suckling.
”Divine! Divine!” he murmured. ”Command me.”
”Take charge of the situation,” I said. ”You'll find a Mr. Pyecroft on the quarter-deck. I'm altogether out of it.”
”He shall stay there. Who am I but the instrument of vengeance in the hands of an over-ruling Providence? (And I put in fresh sparking-plugs this morning.) Salmon, take that steam-kettle home, somehow. I would be alone.”
”Leggat,” I said to my man, ”help Salmon home with my car.”
”Home? Now? It's hard. It's cruel hard,” said Leggat, almost with a sob.
Hinchcliffe outlined my car's condition briefly to the two engineers. Mr.
Pyecroft clung to our guest, who stared with affrighted eyes at the palpitating Octopod; and the free wind of high Suss.e.x whimpered across the ling.
”I am quite agreeable to walkin' 'ome all the way on my feet,” said our guest. ”I wouldn't go to any railway station. It 'ud be just the proper finish to our little joke.” He laughed nervously.
”What's the evolution?” said Pyecroft. ”Do we turn over to the new cruiser?”
I nodded, and he escorted our guest to the tonneau with care. When I was in, he sat himself broad-armed on the little flap-seat which controls the door. Hinchcliffe sat by Kysh.
”You drive?” Kysh asked, with the smile that has won him his chequered way through the world.
”Steam only, and I've about had my whack for to-day, thanks.”
”I see.”
The long, low car slid forward and then dropped like a bullet down the descent our steam toy had so painfully climbed. Our guest's face blanched, and he clutched the back of the tonneau.
”New commander's evidently been trained on a destroyer,” said Hinchcliffe.
”What's 'is wonderful name?” whispered Pyecroft. ”Ho! Well, I'm glad it ain't Saul we've run up against--nor Nims.h.i.+, for that matter. 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.”
Volumes could not have touched it more exactly. His bright eyes were glued on Kysh's hands juggling with levers behind the discreet backward sloping dash.
”An' what sort of a brake might you use?” he said politely.
”This,” Kysh replied, as the last of the hill shot up to one in eight. He let the car run back a few feet and caught her deftly on the brake, repeating the performance cup and ball fas.h.i.+on. It was like being daped above the Pit at the end of an uncoiled solar plexus. Even Pyecroft held his breath.
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