"He couldn't have told us anything," said the superintendent. "He'd probably only just stopped."
"I'm not so sure," said the other. "Didn't you notice what he was doing? Oh, dear, dear, where were your eyes? Hullo! here he comes."
He sprang out into the road and waved to the rider, who, seeing four policemen, thought it better to pull up.
"Excuse me," said his lordship. "Thought we'd just like to stop you and ask if you were all right, and all that sort of thing, you know. Wanted to stop in passing, throttle jammed open, couldn't shut the confounded thing. Little trouble, what?"
"Oh, yes, perfectly all right, thanks, except that I would be glad if you could spare a gallon of petrol. Tank came adrift. Beastly nuisance. Had a bit of a struggle. Happily, Providence placed a broken strap in my way and I've fixed it. Split a bit, though, where that bolt came off. Lucky not to have an explosion, but there's a special cherub for motor-cyclists."
"Strap, eh?" said the superintendent. "Afraid I'll have to trouble you to let me have a look at that."
"What?" said the other. "And just as I've got the damned thing fixed? What the——? All right, dear, all right"—to his passenger. "Is it something serious, officer?"
"Afraid so, sir. Sorry to trouble you."
"Hi!" yelled one of the policemen, neatly fielding Mr. Simpkins as he was taking a dive over the back of the car. "No use doin' that. You're for it, my lad."
"No doubt about it," said the superintendent triumphantly, snatching at the strap which the side-car rider held out to him. "Here's his name on it, 'J. Simpkins,' written on in ink as large as life. Very much obliged to you, sir, I'm sure. You've helped us effect a very important capture."