"Right oh," said Cannington, looking grave, for he saw I was in deadly earnest.
"And don't tell anyone where I am going."
"No. You're supposed to be on your way to London. But, I say----"
"Oh, I can't stop to chatter. Hold your tongue and wait until I see you again, boy. Understand?"
"Yes, that is----"
He would have detained me for I had, very cruelly perhaps, raised his curiosity immensely. But I gave the steering-wheel a twist, and the machinery being in motion, glided away before he could ask further questions. I glanced back to see him shake his fist at me, and then spun rapidly through the gritty square of the Barracks, down the road, into the street, and finally emerged through a steep lane into the country proper. A long smooth Roman road without twists or turns lay before me, and as there was no policeman in sight I let the Rippler go up to her full speed of forty miles an hour. The motion somewhat relieved my mind, which was considerably worried. I wondered if I was held up for exceeding the speed limit, and if my second portmanteau was examined, what the police would say. I knew very well what they would do, that is, lodge me in the nearest jail as an accomplice of the lady in the white cloak. Fortunately the luck held, and I got through safely.
I can't say that my drive was over-pleasant, as the rain came on, just after I left Murchester and it poured steadily throughout the day. Then as the wheels would not bite in particularly soaked and slippery places, the car skidded considerably; also the gear jammed on two occasions, and once I ran short of petrol. Never was there such a series of accidents, and my temper was none of the best when I struck Tarhaven. Here I halted for luncheon, and went to the post-office to see if any letters awaited me. I found only one from my agent, but as that contained two weeks' fees for my new melodrama it proved to be most acceptable. A visit to the haberdasher's took up some of my time, and it was late in the afternoon when I turned the Rippler in the direction of Burwain. However, the distance from Tarhaven was but a short one, and I soon slowed down before the one hotel of the village. I call it an hotel, but it was really a tumbledown inn, quaint, old-fashioned, and comfortable, with a robin red-breast for its sign.
Burwain is an isolated little place, lying low in a hollow depression of the land, some distance from the sea. On its outskirts the road ran through levels of stunted shrubs not big enough to be called trees, and there were also tall hedges, which muffled the village as though it were wrapped in cotton-wool. By reason of this the place is stuffy, and the air seems to be twice breathed. The streets stretch to the four quarters in the form of a crooked cross, and there was a tolerably wide green in the centre, which is faced by the Robin Redbreast Inn. I pulled up, and jumped out to meet the landlady in the passage and receive a great surprise.
"Cuckoo!" I said, halting in much astonishment. "Well, I'm blest."
"Mrs. Gilfin now, Master Cyrus," said the old lady, as amazed as I was. "Well, well to think that you of all gentlemen should come here."