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‘Thanks,’ said Charteris with marked gloom, ‘I don’t think that’ll be much good to me. My aunt, what a hole I’m in.’

The porter made a sympathetic and interrogative noise at the back of his throat, as if inviting him to explain everything. But Charteris felt unequal to conversation. There are moments when one wants to be alone. He went down the steps again. When he got out into the road, his small cycling friend had vanished. Charteris was conscious of a feeling of envy towards her. She was doing the journey comfortably on a bicycle. He would have to walk it. Walk it! He didn’t believe he could. The strangers’ mile, followed by the Homeric combat with the two Hooligans and that ghastly sprint to wind up with, had left him decidedly unfit for further feats of pedestrianism. And it was eight miles to Stapleton, if it was a yard, and another mile from Stapleton to St Austin’s. Charteris, having once more invoked the name of his aunt, pulled himself together with an effort, and limped gallantly on in the direction of Stapleton. But fate, so long hostile to him, at last relented. A rattle of wheels approached him from behind. A thrill of hope shot through him at the sound. There was the prospect of a lift. He stopped, and waited for the dog-cart–it sounded like a dog-cart–to arrive. Then he uttered a shout of rapture, and began to wave his arms like a semaphore. The man in the dog-cart was Dr Adamson.

‘Hullo, Charteris,’ said the Doctor, pulling up his horse, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Give me a lift,’ said Charteris, ‘and I’ll tell you. It’s a long yarn. Can I get in?’

‘Come along. Plenty of room.’

Charteris climbed up, and sank on to the cushioned seat with a sigh of pleasure. What glorious comfort. He had never enjoyed anything more in his life.

‘I’m nearly dead,’ he said, as the dog-cart went on again. ‘This is how it all happened. You see, it was this way–‘

And he embarked forthwith upon his narrative.

Chapter 6

By special request the Doctor dropped Charteris within a hundred yards of Merevale’s door.

‘Good-night,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you will value my advice at all, but you may have it for what it is worth. I recommend you stop this sort of game. Next time something will happen.’

‘By Jove, yes,’ said Charteris, climbing painfully down from the dog-cart, ‘I’ll take that advice. I’m a reformed character from this day onwards. This sort of thing isn’t good enough. Hullo, there’s the bell for lock-up. Good-night, Doctor, and thanks most awfully for the lift. It was frightfully kind of you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Dr Adamson, ‘it is always a privilege to be in your company. When are you coming to tea with me again?’

‘Whenever you’ll have me. I must get leave, though, this time.’

‘Yes. By the way, how’s Graham? It is Graham, isn’t it? The fellow who broke his collar-bone?’

‘Oh, he’s getting on splendidly. Still in a sling, but it’s almost well again now. But I must be off. Good-night.’

‘Good-night. Come to tea next Monday.’

‘Right,’ said Charteris; ‘thanks awfully.’

He hobbled in at Merevale’s gate, and went up to his study. The Babe was in there talking to Welch.

‘Hullo,’ said the Babe, ‘here’s Charteris.’

‘What’s left of him,’ said Charteris.

‘How did it go off?’

‘Don’t, please.’

‘Did you win?’ asked Welch.

‘No. Second. By a yard. Oh, Lord, I am dead.’

‘Hot race?’

‘Rather. It wasn’t that, though. I had to sprint all the way to the station, and missed my train by ten seconds at the end of it all.’

‘Then how did you get here?’

‘That was the one stroke of luck I’ve had this afternoon. I started to walk back, and after I’d gone about a quarter of a mile, Adamson caught me up in his dog-cart. I suggested that it would be a Christian act on his part to give me a lift, and he did. I shall remember Adamson in my will.’