"I wish Baker was here," he said. "Baker is quite as determined as the bishop, and his advice would be very valuable. I wish I knew how to treat Gordon. I'm afraid he'll be angry. If he's angry, he may keep my money. Well, I don't care."
He told Miss Mackarness to pack up, and Miss Mackarness said she would. Miss Mackarness remarked that the world was not what she had imagined it when she was young. It had in fact come to an end. She said she was not surprised at anything and never would be again. She said she had never been in a motor-car, but wanted to be in one, because death seemed quick and easy in a motor-car. She also said that if she escaped, and Lady Penelope was killed, she knew of a good opening in a lunatic asylum for a woman without nerves, who could not be surprised, and had been accustomed to the ways of the highest society.
"Oh, yes, yes; we'll be ready," said Miss Mackarness. And Bob went away to instruct Geordie and Timothy Bunting, and he spent the whole afternoon, covered with dirty oil, dancing about the two motor-cars, while Geordie put them into first-class trim.
"We ain't going to be run to ground by a bishop," said Bob.
"Not much we ain't, sir," said Tim. "I'd sooner go in one of these machines, so I would."
It was the first time he had ever said as much, and Geordie paid him a compliment from under the car.
"That's the first sensible remark I've ever heard you make, Tim," said the concealed chauffeur.
"Thank you," said Timothy. "I always said you were a good chap, Geordie, even if you was wrapped up in muck and grease." And an idea came to Bob.
"I know what I'll do about Gordon," he said. "I'll write something about this now so's to show it him afterward."
He wrote: