“Have you run out of petrol?”
“Oh, no. I’m sure there’s plenty in.”
“Plug all right?”
“I don’t know.” The youth looked unhappy. “It’s only my second time out, you see.”
“Oh! well—there can’t be much wrong. We’ll just make sure about the petrol first,” said Wimsey, more cheerfully. He unscrewed the filler-cap and turned his torch upon the interior of the tank. “Seems all right.” He bent over again, whistling, and replaced the cap. “Let’s give her another kick for luck and then we’ll look at the plug.”
The young man, thus urged, grasped the handle-bars, and with the energy of despair delivered a kick which would have done credit to an army mule. The engine roared into life in a fury of vibration, racing heart-rendingly.
“Good God!” said the youth, “it’s a miracle.”
Lord Peter laid a gentle hand on the throttle-lever and the shattering bellow calmed into a grateful purr.
“What did you do to it?” demanded the cyclist.
“Blew through the filler-cap,” said his lordship with a grin. “Air-lock in the feed, old son, that’s all.”