CHAPTER XXI
WE PLAN AN AMBUSH
Forrest had just concluded his story when the lights of Thetford gleamed in our eyes. The time was 12.30. The last train was gone. The inhabitants were all in bed, and there we were, stranded with a broken car, and no means of putting it right. Forrest would not despair, however, and after some difficulty we managed, with the assistance of the local police, to knock up a man who was locally reputed to know all about motors. He was a little surly at first, but the inducement I offered him to make an attempt to put the transmission right, was sufficient to dissipate his very natural disgust at being disturbed in his beauty sleep. Fortunately his local reputation had reasonable foundation. He was a very capable mechanician, and the way he set about the job gave me great hopes that the car would run as well as ever when he had done with it. And my expectations were gratified. In less than an hour he had completed the repairs. I paid him and asked him to remain up for ten minutes in case we had another breakdown, telling him that after that period had elapsed, he would be at liberty to return to his bed. Whether he waited the ten minutes or not I do not know, for by that time we were halfway to Newmarket, flying through the darkness at a pace which two months previously I would not have dared venture upon in broad daylight. And right onward to St. Albans, we kept it up, reaching the ancient town just as the birds began to twitter in the hedges at the first grey light of early dawn. At St. Albans we stopped at the police-station. A man was waiting at the door.
"Any news?" asked Forrest.
The man shook his head.
"You know where to bring it?" asked my companion.
The man nodded.
"Let us get on home," said Forrest to me.