‘Isn’t he marvellous?’
Anne Edgeware clasped her hands as she spoke, and even Martin Watt admitted grudgingly that ‘the lad had initiative’. Kennedy waved to them, and they saw his face flushed and excited as a child’s. As he changed gear the car jerked forward and set off down the drive at an uneven but ever-increasing pace.
‘That’ll show ’em,’ said Prenderby with a chuckle.
‘They haven’t even tried to stop him,’ said little Jeanne Dacre.
At that moment Mr Kennedy changed into top gear with a roar, and immediately there was a sharp report, followed by a second, which seemed to come from a window above their heads. Instantly, even as they watched it, the Salmson swerved violently, skidded drunkenly across the drive and turned over, pitching its occupant out upon the grass beside the path.
‘Good God!’
Michael Prenderby’s voice was hoarse in the silence.
Martin Watt spoke quickly.
‘Dawlish’s gun. They’ve got him. The Hun was in earnest. Come on, you fellows.’
He thrust open the window and leapt out upon the lawn, the men following him.