B.D.," said Pyecroft. "_Do_ you know what the mid-link is, Hinch?"
Once more the car returned to us; but as Pyecroft stooped to gather up the
rug, Hinchcliffe jerked the lever testily, and with prawn-like speed she
retired backwards into her own steam.
"Apparently 'e don't," said Pyecroft. "What's he done now, Sir?"
"Reversed her. I've done it myself."
"But he's an engineer."
For the third time the car manoeuvred up the hill.
"I'll teach you to come alongside properly, if I keep you 'tiffies out all
night!" shouted Pyecroft. It was evidently a quotation. Hinchcliffe's face
grew livid, and, his hand ever so slightly working on the throttle, the
car buzzed twenty yards uphill.
"That's enough. We'll take your word for it. The mountain will go to
Ma'ommed. Stand _fast_!"
Pyecroft and I and the rug marched up where she and Hinchcliffe fumed
together.
"Not as easy as it looks--eh, Hinch?"
"It is dead easy. I'm going to drive her to Instead Wick--aren't I?" said
the first-class engine-room artificer. I thought of his performances with
No. 267 and nodded. After all, it was a small privilege to accord to pure
genius.
"But my engineer will stand by--at first," I added.
"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.
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