There was something in the way the man spoke that I did not like. His mildness seemed to me suspicious. He had the air of a man who has something up his sleeve. I was still musing on this when Arthur called to me impatiently to get in. I did so, and we drove off. Arthur was in great spirits. He had ascertained from the young man at the wheel that there was no chance of the opposition being able to hire another car at the garage. This machine was his own property, and the only other one at present in the shop was suffering from complicated trouble of the oiling-system and would not be able to be moved for at least another day.
I, however, shook my head when he pointed out the advantages of his position. I was still wondering about Ralph.
"I don't like it," I said.
"Don't like what?"
"Ralph Bingham's manner."
"Of course not," said Arthur. "Nobody does. There have been complaints on all sides."
"I mean, when you told him how you intended to get the ball out of the car."
"What was the matter with him?"
"He was too—ha!"
"How do you mean he was too—ha?"