As he stepped out into the street, a round moon face, red and hot with righteous indignation, loomed down upon him out of the darkness.
‘Come at last, ’ave yer?’ inquired a thick sarcastic voice. ‘Your name and address, if you please.’
Gradually it dawned upon the still meditative doctor that he was confronted by an excessively large and unfriendly London bobby.
‘This is your car, I suppose?’ the questioner continued more mildly, as he observed Abbershaw’s blank expression, but upon receiving the assurance that it was, all his indignation returned.
‘This car’s been left ’ere over an hour to my certain personal knowledge,’ he bellowed. ‘Unattended and drawn out a foot from the kerb, which aggravates the offence. This’ll mean a summons, you know’ – he flourished his notebook. ‘Name and address.’
Abbershaw having furnished him with this information, he replaced the pencil in its sheath and, clicking the book’s elastic band smartly, continued his homily. He was clearly very much aggrieved.
‘It’s people like you,’ he explained, as Abbershaw climbed into the driving seat, ‘wot gives us officers all our work. But we’re not goin’ to have these offences, I can tell you. We’re making a clean sweep. Persons offending against the Law are not going to be tolerated.’
He paused suspiciously. The slightly dazed expression upon the face of the little red-haired man in the car had suddenly given place to a smile.
‘Splendid!’ he said, and there was unmistakable enthusiasm in his tone. ‘Really, really splendid, Officer! You don’t know how comforting that sounds. My fervent wishes for your success.’ And he drove off, leaving the policeman looking after him, wondering a little wistfully if the charge in his notebook should not perhaps have read, ‘Drunk in charge of a car.’