"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 Sussex 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.
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