asking the porters
on the London departure platform if they had seen his pal, a man
with a yellow bicycle, and a black bicycle cape. All to no purpose.

Geoffrey hurriedly lit his lamp and swung off in the dark back to
Woodhouse. He was a powerfully built, imperturbable fellow. He
pressed slowly uphill through the streets, then ran downhill into
the darkness of the industrial country. He had continually to cross
the new tram-lines, which were awkward, and he had occasionally to
dodge the brilliantly-illuminated tram-cars which threaded their way
across-country through so much darkness. All the time it rained, and
his back wheel slipped under him, in the mud and on the new
tram-track.

As he pressed in the long darkness that lay between Slaters Mill and
Durbeyhouses, he saw a light ahead--another cyclist. He moved to his
side of the road. The light approached very fast. It was a strong
acetylene flare. He watched it. A flash and a splash and he saw the
humped back of what was probably Ciccio going by at a great pace on
the low racing machine.

"Hi Cic'--! Ciccio!" he yelled, dropping off his own bicycle.

"Ha-er-er!" he heard the answering shout, unmistakably Italian, way
down the darkness.

He turned--saw the other cyclist had stopped. The flare swung round,
and Ciccio softly rode up. He dropped off beside Geoffrey.

"Toi!" said Ciccio.

"He! Ou vas-tu?"

"He!" ejaculated Ciccio.

Their conversation consisted a good deal in noises variously
ejaculated.

"Coming back?" asked Geoffrey.

"Where've you been?" retorted Ciccio.

"Knarborough--looking for thee. Where have you--?"

"Buckled my front wheel at Durbeyhouses."

"Come off?"

"He!"

"Hurt?"

"Nothing."

"Max is all right."

"Merde!"

"Come on, come back with me."

"Nay." Ciccio shook his head.

"Madame's crying. Wants thee to come back."

Ciccio shook his head.

"Come on, Cic'--" said Geoffrey.

Ciccio shook his head.

"Never?" said Geoffrey.

"Basta--had enough," said Ciccio, with an invisible grimace.

"Come for a bit, and we'll clear together."

Ciccio again shook his head.

"What, is it adieu?"

Ciccio did not speak.

"Don't go, comrade," said Geoffrey.

"Faut," said Ciccio, slightly derisive.

"Eh alors! I'd like to come with thee. What?"

"Where?"

"Doesn't matter. Thou'rt going to Italy?"

"Who knows!--seems so."

"I'd like to go back."

"Eh alors!" Ciccio half veered round.

"Wait for me a few days