“What’s the evolution?” said Pyecroft. “Do we turn over to the new cruiser?”
I nodded, and he escorted our guest to the tonneau with care. When I was in, he sat himself broad-armed on the little flap-seat which controls the door. Hinchcliffe sat by Kysh.
“You drive?” Kysh asked, with the smile that has won him his chequered way through the world.
“Steam only, and I’ve about had my whack for to-day, thanks.”
“I see.”
The long, low car slid forward and then dropped like a bullet down the descent our steam toy had so painfully climbed. Our guest’s face blanched, and he clutched the back of the tonneau.
“New commander’s evidently been trained on a destroyer,” said Hinchcliffe.
“What’s ’is wonderful name?” whispered Pyecroft. “Ho! Well, I’m glad it ain’t Saul we’ve run up against—nor Nimshi, for that matter. This is makin’ me feel religious.”
Our impetus carried us half-way up the next slope, where we steadied to a resonant fifteen an hour against the collar.
“What do you think?” I called to Hinchcliffe.