“What on earth are you talking about?” asked that gentleman in high bewilderment. “This is all Greek to me.”
“Then Greek let it remain, Anthony,” replied his cousin kindly. “Greek let it remain. That shows the advantage of a classical education.”
The low hum of a distant engine floated in through the open window, increasing rapidly to a loud roar.
“Powerful sort of car, that,” Roger commented.
“That isn’t a car engine,” remarked Anthony, with all the scorn of the mechanically-minded for those not similarly gifted. “That’s an aeroplane, you ass.”
The inspector jumped hastily to his feet. “An aeroplane, did you say?”
Anthony cocked an ear towards the now shattering din. “Yes,” he was forced almost to shout. “Nearly overhead, and flying low. Making for the sea apparently. Young Woodthorpe celebrating his escape from arrest, I expect. You can tell it’s a⸺”
“I must go and look into this,” observed the inspector shortly, and vanished with rapidity. A minute later the noise of a motor-cycle engine drowned that of the swiftly receding aeroplane.
“What on earth’s the trouble now?” wondered Anthony.
“Heaven knows,” replied Roger philosophically. “Probably friend Colin is still trying to make himself look guilty by pretending to do a bolt for the Continent. Dear me, what a handicap to a man a super-developed sense of chivalry must be! It’s as bad as a disease.”