"Cheerio!" he exclaimed. "Any luck?"
"Read this," replied Villiers. "My festive friend, you'll have to pipe down this afternoon. Thursday's 'Make and mend', you know."
"Not in this rotten show," said Claverhouse. "The civilian equivalent to the Adjutant bird in these works is a regular Cossack for granting time off. I haven't a great grandmother to bury, nor is there a football match on this afternoon, so honours are even on that score. What do you think of this little lad? Guess I'll knock sixty out of her on the road."
"In that case," remarked Beverley, "you'll get run in by the police and sacked by the firm, so before you do find yourself in the cart why don't you apply for leave?"
"I will, sure," replied Claverhouse, throwing off his leather-lined coat and tossing it into the coupé. "Hang on half a tick, and I'll tell you the result of the poll."
He disappeared from view, leaving Jack and Bobby to admire the workmanship and general "get up" of the powerful "Odouresque".
In less than five minutes he reappeared, beaming and smiling.
"It's all O.K.," he announced. "I cut the rotten red tape and saw the manager. While I was about it—'in for a penny, in for a pound' stunt you know—I asked if he had any objection to you fellows coming with me. Said he hadn't, as long as the firm hadn't to pay your funeral exes; so hop in and let's get a move on."
Nothing loth the two chums boarded the car, Villiers sitting by Claverhouse while Beverley reclined in lordly fashion on the back seat. Almost imperceptibly, in response to a touch of the electric starter, the powerful car glided away.
There was no doubt about it. Claverhouse knew how to handle a high-horse-powered engine, and before the car had traversed the length of the crowded High Street, and had adroitly negotiated the narrow Bargate, both Villiers and Beverley had abandoned the mental visions of finding themselves either in a mortuary or in an infirmary.