“Well?” said the Countess, inquiringly.

It was a challenge to him to prove that he and not the mule was in charge of the expedition.

He briefly explained the mule’s idiosyncrasy, as it were apologising for its bad taste in objecting to public servants whom the Countess cherished.

“They’ll be out of sight in a moment,” said the Countess.  And both she and Demo tried to look as if the victoria had stopped in that special spot for a special reason, and that the mule was a pattern of obedience.  Nevertheless, the little crowd was growing a little larger.

“Now,” said the Countess, encouragingly.  The tail of the regiment of policemen had vanished towards the Institute.

“Tchk!  Tchk!” Denry persuaded the mule.

No response from those forefeet!

“Perhaps I’d better get out and walk,” the Countess suggested.  The crowd was becoming inconvenient, and had even begun to offer unsolicited hints as to the proper management of mules.  The crowd was also saying to itself:  “It’s her!  It’s her!  It’s her!” Meaning that it was the Countess.

“Oh no,” said Denry, “it’s all right.”

And he caught the mule “one” over the head with his whip.

The mule, stung into action, dashed away, and the crowd scattered as if blown to pieces by the explosion of a bomb.  Instead of pursuing a right line the mule turned within a radius of its own length, swinging the victoria round after it as though the victoria had been a kettle attached to it with string.  And Countess, Denry, and victoria were rapt with miraculous swiftness away—­not at all towards the Policemen’s Institute, but down Longshaw Road, which is tolerably steep.  They were pursued, but ineffectually.  For the mule had bolted and was winged.  They fortunately came into contact with nothing except a large barrow of carrots, turnips, and cabbages which an old woman was wheeling up Longshaw Road.  The concussion upset the barrow, half filled the victoria with vegetables, and for a second stayed the mule; but no real harm seemed to have been done, and the mule proceeded with vigour.  Then the Countess noticed that Denry was not using his right arm, which swung about rather uselessly.

“I must have knocked my elbow against the barrow,” he muttered.  His face was pale.

“Give me the reins,” said the Countess.

“I think I can turn the brute up here,” he said.

And he did in fact neatly divert the mule up Birches Street, which is steeper even than Longshaw Road.  The mule for a few instants pretended that all gradients, up or down, were equal before its angry might.  But Birches Street has the slope of a house-roof.  Presently the mule walked, and then it stood still.  And half Birches Street emerged to gaze, for the Countess’s attire was really very splendid.

“I’ll leave this here, and we’ll walk back,” said Denry.  “You won’t be late—­that is, nothing to speak of.  The Institute is just round the top here.”