o thought in terms of reels
and situations, had managed to inspire Jones with the feeling that he
was moving on the screen, and that any moment the hedgerows might give
up an army of pursuers to the delight of a hidden audience.

However, the hedgerows of the Pebblemarsh road gave up nothing but the
odours of briar and woodbine, nothing pursued him but the twitter of
birds and the songs of larks above the summer-drowsy fields.

There is nothing much better to live in the memory than a real old
English country road on a perfect summer afternoon, no pleasanter
companion.

Pebblemarsh is a town of some four thousand souls. It possesses a dye
factory. It once possessed the only really good trout stream in this
part of the country, with the inevitable result, for in England when a
really good trout stream is discovered a dye factory is always erected
upon its banks. Pebblemarsh now only possesses a dye factory.

The main street runs north and south, and as Jones passed up it he might
have fancied himself in Sandbourne or Northbourne, so much alike are
these three towns.

Half way up and opposite the post office, an archway disclosed itself
with, above it, the magic word,

"GARAGE"

He entered the place. There were no signs of cars, nothing of a movable
description in that yard, with the exception of a stout man in leggings
and shirtsleeves, who, seeing the stranger, came forward to receive him.

"Have you a car?" asked Jones.

"They're all out except a Ford," said the stout man. "Did you want to go
for a drive?"

"No. I want to run up to London in a hurry--what's the mileage from
here?"

"We reckon it sixty three miles from here to London--that is to say the
Old Kent Road."

"That's near enough," said Jones. "What's the price?"

"A shilling a mile to take you, and a sixpence a mile for the car coming
back."

"What's the total?"

The proprietor figured in his head for a moment. "Four, fifteen and
six," said he.

"I'll take the car," said Jones, "and I'll pay you now. Can I have it at
once?"

The proprietor went to a door and opened it. "Jim," cried he, "are you
there? Gentleman wants the Ford taken to London, get her out and get
yourself ready."

He turned to Jones.

"She'll be ready inside ten minutes if that will do?"

"That'll do," said Jones, "and here's the money." He produced the
chamois leather bag, paid the five sovereigns, and received five and
sixpence chang