Charles was bubbling with happiness behind his impassive front. He knew that he had not sent one of his telegrams that day. Hutchins would either refuse to open it, and thereby miss an important message, or open it too late and find he should have sent an answer.

The housekeeper stumped away. Hutchins, trembling, held out the envelope to Charles.

‘Now open it, damn you.’

‘I’ve got greasy hands. Open it yourself. It’s for you.’

‘You heard what I said. Open it.’

Charles shrugged and broke open the envelope. He took the telegram out. It had been handed in at Birmingham and read: GET READY COMING OVER IN ROLLS MERDE.

Walter had excelled himself. He must have given instructions to some friend in Birmingham. No doubt a rapid volley of tele­grams would shower upon them from all parts of the country, and possibly even from abroad, for Walter did nothing by halves.

Silently he handed the telegram to Hutchins, who glanced at it before flinging it violently to the ground in a ball.

‘That settles it. I’ll get you sacked if it’s the last thing I do.’

‘You’ll have to prove that I was in Birmingham, or that I know anyone in Birmingham, first,’ said Charles smoothly.

‘Prove nothing. I’ll just get you sacked some other way.’

‘It’s no good, George. There’s only one thing you can do about it, and that’s grow up. Stop being the kind of person that people play practical jokes on.’

‘It’s just my misfortune that I know blasted swine like you,’ said Hutchins, more calmly than he had yet spoken.

‘Yes,’ said Charles. ‘Like me and Merde.’

He picked up the dipstick and went back to the Daimler’s entrails. Hutchins walked away.

The next morning Walter proved at once that he meant to make hay while the sun shone. Charles went across to the kitchen for his breakfast at half-past seven, and already he could see the stocky, overall-clad figure at work on some elaborate piece of makeshift at the other end of the drive. Still hankering for neut­rality, he slipped across the yard unperceived; but when he returned, half an hour later, Walter was waiting to collar him. He had laid down a rubber strip at the end of the drive, just where it broadened into the small concrete yard in front of the garage doors.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said as soon as Charles emerged. ‘You’ll be at a loose end for a bit this morning, I expect?’

‘Not a second to myself,’ Charles asserted solemnly. ‘Busy from morn to dewy eve. Never been so busy in my life.’

‘Oh, hell, don’t make me go through all that again. I thought you said you’d help. I was counting on it. All you’ve got to do is to stand half-way along the drive and watch the dial.’