“It seems a little late in the year,” Lessingham observed, “to be making preparations against Zeppelins.”
“Well, they cross here pretty often, you know,” Griffiths reminded him. “It's only a matter of a few weeks ago that one almost came to grief on this common. We picked up their observation car not fifty yards from where you are sitting.”
“I remember hearing about it,” Lessingham acknowledged.
“By-the-by,” the Commandant continued, smoothing his horse's neck, “didn't you arrive that evening or the evening after?”
“I believe I did.”
“Liverpool Street or King's Cross? The King's Cross train was very nearly held up.”
“I didn't come by train at all,” Lessingham replied, glancing for a moment into the clouds, “And now I come to think of it, it must have been the evening after.”
“Fine county for motoring,” Griffiths continued, stroking his horse's head.
“The roads I have been on seem very good,” was the somewhat bored admission.
“You haven't a car of your own here, have you?”