“Why? What’s he done?”
“He strikes me as an impudent puppy.”
“Anyhow, he can swing a motor. See that!” for the Mercury had executed a corkscrew movement between several vehicles with the sinuous grace of a greyhound.
Now it was Mrs. Devar, and not Cynthia, who leaned forward and said pleasantly:
“You seem to be in a hurry to leave Bournemouth, Fitzroy.”
“I am not enamored of bricks and mortar on a fine morning,” he answered.
“Well, I have full confidence in you, but don’t embroil us with the police. We have a good deal to see to-day, I understand.”
Then he heard the strenuous voice addressing Cynthia.
“Millicent Porthcawl says that Glastonbury is heavenly, and Wells a peaceful dream. I visited Cheddar once, some years ago, but it rained, and I felt like a watery cheese.”