“Now—right away,” Sam answered. “Very likely he’s at his cottage this afternoon.”
“Want any company?”
Sam deliberated a moment. “Yes. Maybe it would be a good scheme to have the crowd along, so he could look us over and see that we’re not dangerous.”
“Then you’ll take Poke and Step and the Shark?”
“We’ll give them a chance to go, anyway.”
But the Shark, as it proved, preferred to remain in the camp. He growled savagely when Sam looked into the tent.
“Hang it all, don’t interrupt me! Keep away, can’t you? I’m just getting where I’ve tried to arrive for a week. I’ll be there in five minutes more, if only you’ll let me alone.”
“All right; suit yourself,” said Sam, and stepped back. He beckoned to Orkney, the Trojan and Herman, and led the way through the woods to the shed in the big field.
There, evidently, something was doing. The Saracen was standing in plain sight before the shed, poised trimly on the bicycle wheels and with wings symmetrically out-spread. Step was pottering about the motor, while Poke, hands on hips, was surveying the machine with immense satisfaction.
“Hulloo! What! Finished, is it?” Sam inquired with interest.