self
by my side.

"How did you know my Christian name?" I demanded.

"Your sister used it this morning. You see, I've forgotten your other,
and I can't keep on saying 'you.' But I won't do it again."

"Please, Agatha."

"Deriot. One 'r.' I say, you've torn your coat properly."

"It feels as if it was in two pieces," said I.

"If it wasn't for the collar, it would be," said Agatha. "Never mind.
Bare backs are still fashionable. And what's a torn coat, when you've
got the car again?"

"You're right," I agreed. "You'd hardly believe it," I added, "but I can
tell from the feel of her that some stranger's been driving."

"I can believe it. After all, a car's just like a horse."

As she spoke, we sped into the market square of Bloodstock. The police
station stood in Love Lane, a couple of streets away.

Here a disappointment was in store. The sole representative of the Law
was a station sergeant in his shirt-sleeves and a state of profuse
perspiration. Between his lips was a penholder, and he held a telephone
receiver to his left ear. In an adjoining room the bell of another
telephone was ringing violently in long regular spasms, while, somewhere
quite close, a dog was giving ceaseless vent to those short sharp barks
which denote impatience of detention.

A sudden elevation of the sergeant's eyebrows invited me to state my
business, but before I had spoken two sentences he shifted the penholder
from his mouth and shook his head.

"'Fraid I can't 'elp you at the moment, sir. That's the third car what's
been stole in this distric' this mornin'. There's a 'ole gang of 'em
about. Every one excep' me's out after 'em now. 'Eaven knows when
they'll come in. An' there's that other telephone goin' like mad, an'
the Chief Constable's lef' his bull-dawg tied up there, an' 'e won't let
me within six foot of it." He turned to blare into the mouthpiece.
"'Ullo! 'Oo _are_ you? 'Oo _are_ you? Wot! Oh, I can't bear it. 'Ere,
for 'Eaven's sake, 'old the line." He set down the receiver, shook the
sweat out of his eyes, and sank on to a stool. "Another blinkin' car
gone," he said hoarsely. "I dunno wot's the matter with the world. I
wish I was back in France."

* * * * *

Love Lane was a narrow street, so I did not attempt to turn the car, but
drove on and presently out of the town by back streets on to the
Bilberry road.

It would have been better if I had telephoned to White Ladies before
leav