Half-way down I turned to look at my companion, and at that moment the step upon which I was standing gave way.  The scrambling sounds which proclaimed my fall were followed by the rasping protest of yielding cloth, and I came to rest six feet from the road at the expense of a pre-War coat, which had caught the corner of one of the unplaned risers.  All had been so still, that in that hollow place the noise could not have failed to attract the attention of any one who was within earshot, and I lay for a moment where I had fallen, straining my ears for the sound of footsteps or voices.

“Are you all right?” whispered a soft voice above me.

I turned my head and nodded.  Miss Deriot, standing with clasped hands, heaved a sigh of relief and prepared to continue her descent.

Gingerly I stepped down into the sandy road and started to cross it a-tiptoe.

Facing towards Bloodstock, the car presented her off side to us.

With the utmost caution I proceeded to induct myself into the driver’s seat.  As I sat down, Miss Deriot slipped in front of the bonnet and round to the near side.  She was opening the high side-door and my foot was on the self-starter, when I heard the murmur of voices.

We were not a second too soon.

The moment I had started the engine there was a cry followed by the clattering of heavy shoes upon cobbles, and as the car slid into the road a man in a grey hat came tearing out of the inn’s courtyard, waving his arms and yelling like one possessed.  Hard on his heels came pounding his supporters, three of them, all bellowing like bulls.

So much I saw for myself.  Agatha, kneeling on the seat by my side, kept me informed of their movements till we swept out of sight.

“He’s simply dancing.  The one in the grey hat, I mean.  Now he’s shaking his fist at us.  Oh, he’s mad.  He’s thrown his hat on the ground.  O-o-o, Boy, he’s trying to kick one of the others.  Oh, I wish you could see....”  The merry voice dissolved into peals of laughter.

Then the road curled, and Agatha turned left about and settled herself by my side.

“How did you know my Christian name?” I demanded.

“Your sister used it this morning.  You see, I’ve forgotten your other, and I can’t keep on saying ‘you.’  But I won’t do it again.”

“Please, Agatha.”

“Deriot.  One ‘r.’  I say, you’ve torn your coat properly.”

“It feels as if it was in two pieces,” said I.

“If it wasn’t for the collar, it would be,” said Agatha.  “Never mind.  Bare backs are still fashionable.  And what’s a torn coat, when you’ve got the car again?”

“You’re right,” I agreed.  “You’d hardly believe it,” I added, “but I can tell from the feel of her that some stranger’s been driving.”

“I can believe it.  After all, a car’s just like a horse.”

As she spoke, we sped into the market square of Bloodstock.  The police station stood in Love Lane, a couple of streets away.