d have to come back and fetch the car sometime, and
that I would then blackmail him into driving me to Hurley Junction.

I did not trouble to draw a fourth induction. I was cool and comfortable
under the shadow of the cover. The flies, although there were many
openings for them, did not favour the darkness of my tent. I leaned well
back into the corner of the car and joined the remainder of the county in
a calm and restful sleep.

IX

BANKS

I was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the road--probably the first
footsteps that had passed during the hour and a half that I had been
asleep. I was still lazily wondering whether it was worth while to look
out, when the tarpaulin was smartly drawn off the car and revealed me to
the eyes of the car's guardian, Arthur Banks.

His first expression was merely one of surprise. He looked as startled as
if he had found any other unlikely thing asleep in the car. Then I saw his
surprise give way to suspicion. His whole attitude stiffened, and I was
given an opportunity to note that he was one of those men who grow cool
and turn pale when they are angry.

My first remark to him was ill-chosen.

"I've been waiting for you," I said.

Probably my last thought before I went to sleep had concerned the hope
that Banks would be the first person I should see when I woke; and that
thought now came up and delivered itself almost without my knowledge.

"They have put you in charge, I suppose," he returned grimly. "Well, you
needn't have worried. I'd just come to take the car back to the house."

I had again been taken for a spy, but this time I was not stirred to
righteous indignation. The thing had become absurd. I had for all intents
and purposes been turned out of Jervaise Hall for aiding and abetting
Banks, and now he believed me to be a sort of prize crew put aboard the
discovered motor by the enemy.

My situation had its pathetic side. I had, by running away, finally
branded myself in the Jervaises' eyes as a mean and despicable traitor to
my own order; and now it appeared that I was not to be afforded even the
satisfaction of having proved loyal to the party of the Home Farm. I was a
pariah, the suspect of both sides, the ill-treated hero of a romantic
novel. I ought to have wept, but instead of that I laughed.

Perhaps I was still a little dazed by sleep, for I was under the
impression that any kind of explanation would be quite hopeless, and I
had, then, no intent