“Looks bad, does it?” he said.
“Well,” replied Austen, “it might have been done better. It was bungled. In a death-trap as cleverly conceived as that crossing, with a down grade approaching it, they ought to have got the horse too.”
The Honourable Hilary grunted again, and inserted the Honey Dew. He resolved to ignore the palpable challenge in this remark, which was in keeping with this new and serious mien in Austen.
“Get the names of witnesses?” was his next question.
“I took particular pains to do so.”
“Hand 'em over to Tooting. What kind of man is this Meagre?”
“He is rather meagre now,” said Austen, smiling a little. “His name's Meader.”
“Is he likely to make a fuss?”
“I think he is,” said Austen.
“Well,” said the Honourable Hilary, “we must have Ham Tooting hurry 'round and fix it up with him as soon as he can talk, before one of these cormorant lawyers gets his claw in him.”