“Well, if I put it on it’ll hang down all over my face,” objected Sir Roland. “Shan’t be able to breathe.”
They had come by this time to the hillock Mr Hawkins had mentioned. The bushes which grew on its slope afforded excellent protection, and it commanded a long view of the road, from which it was set back at a distance of about fifty yards. Reaching the top of it, they dismounted, and sat down to await their prey.
“I don’t know if it has occurred to you, Pelham,” said Captain Heron; removing his hat, and throwing it down on the grass beside him, “but if we stop many chaises before we chance on the one we’re after, our first victims are likely to have plenty of time to inform against us in Hounslow.” He looked across the Viscount’s sprawling person to Mr Hawkins. “Ever had that happen to you, my friend?”
Mr Hawkins, who was chewing a blade of grass, grinned. “Ah, I’ve had it happen. No scout-cull ain’t snabbled me yet.”
“Burn it, man, how many chaises do you expect to see?” said the Viscount.
“Well, it’s the main Bath Road,” Captain Heron pointed out.
Sir Roland removed his mask, which he had been trying on, to say: “Bath season not begun yet.”
Captain Heron stretched himself full-length on the springy turf, and clasped his hands lightly over his eyes to protect them from the sun. “You’re fond of betting, Pelham,” he said lazily. “I’ll lay you ten to one in guineas that something goes wrong with this precious scheme of yours.”
“Done!” said the Viscount promptly. “But it was your scheme, not mine.”
“Something coming!” announced Sir Roland suddenly.