ranger. Let it be a lesson to you."

My companion smiled.

"I don't mind for myself," she said, "but what about your car?"

I spread out my hands.

"Reason dictates that I should foot-slog it to Bloodstock and try and
get the police moving; but I can't leave you here."

"You can easily, but you're not going to. I don't want to sit here for
the rest of the day." She pointed to the barn. "Help me to get her in
here, and then we'll push off to Bloodstock together."

A hurried reconnaissance led to the discovery of a little farmhouse, and
two minutes later I was making urgent representations to the owner of
the barn. To our relief the latter proved sympathetic and obliging, and
before we again took to the road the two-seater was safely under lock
and key.

"And now," said Miss Deriot, "how did it happen?"

"The theft? I can't imagine. We left that fool who yelled at us in
charge. I suppose he left her to get a drink or something. This is only
the fourth time we've had her out," I added gloomily.

"Oh, I say! Never mind. You're bound to get her again. Look at that
meadow-sweet. Isn't it lovely? I wish I could paint. Can you?"

"I painted a key-cupboard once. It was hung, too. Outside the
stillroom."

"Pity you didn't keep it up," said Miss Deriot. "It's a shame to waste
talent like that. Isn't it just broiling? I should love a bathe now."

"I hope you don't wear stockings in the water," said I.

Miss Deriot glanced at her white ankles.

"Is that a reflection?" she demanded.

I shook my head.

"By no manner of means. But there's a place for everything, isn't there?
I mean----"

We both laughed.

"That's better," said my companion. "I couldn't bear to see you so
worried this beautiful morning."

"My dear," said I, "you've a nice kind heart, and I thank you."

"Don't mention it," said Miss Deriot.

From the crown of her broad-brimmed hat to the soles of her buckskin
shoes she was the pink of daintiness. Health was springing in her fresh
cheeks, eagerness danced in her eyes, energy leapt from her carriage.
Had she been haughty, you would have labelled her "Diana," and have done
with it; but her eyes were gentle, and there was a tenderness about her
small mouth that must have pardoned Actaeon. A plain gold wrist-watch on
a black silk strap was all her jewellery.

"We'd better strike across the next field," said Miss Deriot. "There's a
path that'll bring us out opposite _The Thatcher_. It'll save us abo