"By Jove!" ejaculated George's parent, too delighted to think of thanking his son. "However did you manage it?"
"Only turned the petrol on," replied George calmly.
"Have you been playing any tricks----?" began the general, then resolved to repeat the question at a more favourable private opportunity. "Jump in, Sefton; we've wasted an hour already. Might have been in Gloucester by this time. 'Fraid we'd better put up in Malmesbury to-night."
On the lowest gear, the car crawled slowly up the stiff gradient leading to the little town, and pulled up outside an ivy-clad inn within a stone's throw of the imposing ruins of the abbey.
"Any news to-night, I wonder?" enquired the general as the four sat down to a substantial supper. "Suppose there's no chance of a late paper in this out-of-the-way spot?"
"'Fraid not," replied the admiral. "You see, it is on a branch line. Decent weather, eh?"
"Not so bad for our men in the North Sea," remarked Crosthwaite complacently. "They've had a long, rotten winter, although Dick never complains on that score. Must be quite yachty weather, I should imagine," he added, with the memories of a certain pleasure cruise to the Baltic in June flashing across his mind.
He picked up a morning paper from a settee and glanced at it. He had read the selfsame news fourteen hours previously. Yet a paragraph had hitherto escaped his notice.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed.
"What's that?" enquired the admiral.