The policeman rose: he also examined the package.
"In the name of the law I shall open this package to ascertain exactly what is in it."
The two men undid the rope tightly bound round the covering; but whilst mine host of The Flowery Crossways had no idea of what the contents of the package signified, the sergeant, who had formerly served in the artillery, went white: his voice was stern.
"This is serious—very serious—it is the mouthpiece of a large gun—larger than any I have come across!"
The recovered motor-car drew up before The Flowery Crossways with a flourish. The beaming chauffeur jumped down and went towards the hotel-keeper and the police sergeant.
"It was my car all right!" he cried. "And I believed that never again should I set eyes on it!... When I think."...
The chauffeur stopped short; the unresponsive hotel-keeper and the police sergeant were staring at him fixedly. Not a word did they utter.
The chauffeur stared in turn: then he asked:
"Well?... What is it?... Are you frozen, you two?... What's the matter with you?... I inform you that I have found my motor, and that's how you take it!"