“Do you think he will get to Gloucester?” she asked.
“I certainly do,” said Broad confidently. “That young man will get anywhere. He is the right kind and the right type, and nothing is going to hold him.”
She picked up the book but did not look at its printed page.
“What happened to the police cars? Mr. Elk was telling me a lot about them last night,” she said. “I haven’t heard since.”
Joshua Broad licked his dry lips.
“Oh, they got through all right,” he said vaguely.
He did not tell her that two police cars had been ditched between Newbury and Reading, the cars smashed and three men injured by a mine which had been sprung under them. Nor did he give her the news, that had arrived by motor-cyclist from Swindon, that Dick’s car had not been seen.
“They are dreadful people, dreadful!” She shivered. “How did they come into existence, Mr. Broad?”
Broad was smoking (at her request) a long, thin cigar, and he puffed for a long time before he spoke.
“I guess I’m the father of the Frogs,” he said to her amazement.