d Bones solemnly. "I assure you I'm looking
forward to the return journey with the greatest eagerness--I mean to
say, of course, that I'm looking forward to the other journey--I don't
mean to say I want the day to finish, and all that sort of rot. In
fact, dear old Miss Vera, I think we'd better be starting."

He cranked up and climbed into the driver's seat, and beckoned
Marguerite to seat herself by his side. He might have done this
without explanation, but Bones never did things without explanation,
and he turned back and glared at Hamilton.

"You'd like to be alone, dear old thing, wouldn't you?" he said
gruffly. "Don't worry about me, dear old lad. A lot of people say you
can see things reflected in the glass screen, but I'm so absorbed in my
driving----"

"Get on with it!" snarled Hamilton.

It was, nevertheless, a perfect day, and Bones, to everybody's
surprise, his own included, drove perfectly. It had been his secret
intention to drive to Brighton; but nobody suspected this plan, or
cared very much what his intentions had been, and the car was running
smoothly across Salisbury Plain.

When they stopped for afternoon tea, Hamilton did remark that he
thought Bones had said something about Brighton, but Bones just smiled.
They left Andover that night in the dusk; but long before the light had
faded, the light which was sponsored by Mr. Jelf blazed whitely in the
lamp that never went out. And when the dark came Bones purred with
joy, for this light was a wonderful light. It flooded the road ahead
with golden radiance, and illuminated the countryside, so that distant
observers speculated upon its origin.

"Well, old thing," said Bones over his shoulder, "what do you think of
the lamps?"

"Simply wonderful, Bones," agreed Hamilton. "I've never seen anything
so miraculous. I can even see that you're driving with one hand."

Bones brought the other hand up quickly to the wheel and coughed. As
for Miss Marguerite Whitland, she laughed softly, but nobody heard her.

They were rushing along a country road tree-shaded and high-hedged, and
Bones was singing a little song--when the light went out.

It went out with such extraordinary unexpectedness, without so much as
a warning flicker, that he was temporarily blinded, and brought the car
to a standstill.

"What's up, Bones?" asked Hamilton.

"The light, dear old thing," said Bones. "I think the jolly old
typewriter must have touched the key with h