"You know him?" said Winter.
The Pirate laughed pleasantly. "I have met him on one occasion, and, as some slight return for a very excellent dinner which he ordered, and for which—doubtless by an oversight—he left me to pay, I will not trouble you to awaken him on this occasion. I wish you good evening, gentlemen."
As he finished speaking he backed his car for a few yards. His hand moved to a lever. The car turned. He waved the hand which was disengaged, and in a moment he was gone, attaining at once a speed, which, until then I had thought it impossible for a motor-car ever to achieve.
Both Winter and I sat stock still, gazing after the fast disappearing car. We could not watch it for long; as in fifteen seconds it was out of sight, and even the dust-cloud it had raised in its progress had cleared.
Then Winter turned to me and muttered a few expletives gently in my ear. I followed his example and we both felt better, at least I think so; for, without rhyme or reason, Winter burst into a fit of laughter, and I followed his example, though I cannot explain now, any more than I could have done then, why I laughed.
When we had done laughing, Winter turned to me and said—
"Sutgrove, old fellow, would you mind punching me? I'm not quite sure whether it is the Colonel who is asleep or myself. I feel as if I have just awakened from dreaming of the story those newspapers printed."
"It's not much of a dream," I remarked. "I little thought that we were to have the good fortune of so early an introduction to the Motor Pirate, however. The Colonel will be quite cross to think that his bottle of port prevented the renewal of an old acquaintance."
Then Winter laughed again. I think he saw the amusing side of our adventure more clearly than I did, for I said sharply—
"Hadn't we better be getting on to St. Albans, and giving information to the police?"