He went to the nearest place in Regent Street and hired one.
"Very well, sir," said the man, "but it's rather expensive, you know."
Bob pulled out a handful of sovereigns.
"Take as many as you think fair," he said, grandly. "And don't forget I want a speedy one, and a man that can drive, and I'll pay the fines of course!"
That was how he came to Spilsborough just in time and about the hour when the moon was to rise. He passed a motor-car in the ditch about ten miles out of the cathedral city, and did not stop to find out what was the matter. He thus missed the discovery that Bramber and his chauffeur were both sitting upon the wreck, using very awful language to each other on the subject of losing the way and coming bolt down a side road into the opposing hedge. It is astonishing how an accident at thirty miles an hour brings owners and mechanics down to the same human level.
When Bob reached Spilsborough, he was covered with dust, but was as spry as a grasshopper and awfully full of his news.
"You can drive," said Bob to his man. "I'm very much pleased with you. Stop at this hotel."
He went into the Angel, and staggered blithely to the office.
"Is Mr. Gordon here, or Mr. Plant, or the Marquis of Rivaulx?" he demanded.
He thus discovered the marquis.