on me, Mrs. Milton--"

"I am in your hands," she said, with pathetic littleness, looking up at
him, and for the moment he forgot the exasperation of the day.

Phipps, during this conversation, had stood in a somewhat depressed
attitude, leaning on his stick, feeling his collar, and looking from one
speaker to the other. The idea of leaving Dangle behind seemed to him an
excellent one. "We might leave a message at the place where he got the
dog-cart," he suggested, when he saw their eyes meeting. There was a
cheerful alacrity about all three at the proposal.

But they never got beyond Botley. For even as their train ran into the
station, a mighty rumbling was heard, there was a shouting overhead, the
guard stood astonished on the platform, and Phipps, thrusting his
head out of the window, cried, "There he goes!" and sprang out of the
carriage. Mrs. Milton, following in alarm, just saw it. From Widgery it
was hidden. Botley station lies in a cutting, overhead was the roadway,
and across the lemon yellows and flushed pinks of the sunset, there
whirled a great black mass, a horse like a long-nosed chess knight,
the upper works of a gig, and Dangle in transit from front to back.
A monstrous shadow aped him across the cutting. It was the event of a
second. Dangle seemed to jump, hang in the air momentarily, and vanish,
and after a moment's pause came a heart-rending smash. Then two black
heads running swiftly.

"Better get out," said Phipps to Mrs. Milton, who stood fascinated in
the doorway.

In another moment all three were hurrying up the steps. They found
Dangle, hatless, standing up with cut hands extended, having his hands
brushed by an officious small boy. A broad, ugly road ran downhill in a
long vista, and in the distance was a little group of Botley inhabitants
holding the big, black horse. Even at that distance they could see
the expression of conscious pride on the monster's visage. It was as
wooden-faced a horse as you can imagine. The beasts in the Tower of
London, on which the men in armour are perched, are the only horses I
have ever seen at all like it. However, we are not concerned now with
the horse, but with Dangle. "Hurt?" asked Phipps, eagerly, leading.

"Mr. Dangle!" cried Mrs. Milton, clasping her hands.

"Hullo!" said Dangle, not surprised in the slightest. "Glad you've come.
I may want you. Bit of a mess I'm in--eigh? But I've caught 'em. At the
very place I expected, too."

"Caught them!" s