There was a good crowd in town for the show, or the races, or a stock
sale, or land ballot, or something; but most of them were tired, or at
tea--or in the pubs--and the corners were deserted. Observe how fate
makes time and things fit when she wants to do a good turn--or play a
practical joke. Harry Chatswood, for instance, didn't know anything
about the hypnotic business.
It was the corners of the main street or road and the principal short
cross street, and the van was opposite the pub stables in the main
street. Harry crossed the streets diagonally to the opposite corner,
in a line with the van. There he slipped the bar down over the
horse's rump, and fastened one end of the wire on to the ring of it.
Then he walked back to the van, carrying the wire and letting the
coils go wide, and, as noiselessly as possible, made a loop in the
loose end and slipped it over the hooks on the end of the pole.
("Unnecessary detail!" my contemporaries will moan, "Overloaded
with uninteresting details!" But that's because they haven't got the
details--and it's the details that go.) Then Harry skipped back to
his horse, jumped on, gathered up the bridle reins, and used his
spurs. There was a swish and a clang, a scrunch and a clock-clock and
rattle of wheels, and a surprised human sound; then a bump and a
shout--for there was no underground drainage, and the gutters belonged
to the Stone Age. There was a swift clocking and rattle, more shouts,
another bump, and a yell.
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