‘Up to the middle! The dial!’ shouted the helmeted figure from amid a haze of oily vapour.

Charles stumbled away, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. Did everyone get into these farcical situa­tions? Or was there something about him that attracted them? Here he was, pushed into helping his employer’s son to kill himself, and all because he lacked the strength of mind to refuse. And yet inwardly he knew that he could not have refused Walter; a really single-minded person is always given what he wants. What a man lives for, he gets; witness Hutchins, Froulish, Mr. Blearney, Roderick, Stan, Burge, and now Walter.

The crackling and bellowing at the far end of the drive suddenly took on a more violent tone. The needle before him jumped, and began to circulate. It was too late to stop the maniac: Charles stood appalled, as he had looked appalled at the rapt face of Harry Dogson, humbled by the mystical power of humanity in pursuit of an ideal. He heard a vicious spluttering as the engine moved into second gear, and then the grotesque junk-heap flew past him round the sharp bend, flinging pebbles into the air. It was a fantastic sight; the engine was placed behind the driver, giving a nightmare impression that the machine was going backwards. The four naked jets that served as exhaust pipes were pouring black smoke, which was whipped behind in a straight line to mingle with the shower of fine dirt. Bouncing wildly, Walter aimed himself like a torpedo towards the second timing strip and, beyond it, the garage doors.

Hutchins must have been nervous about getting June out of the house unobserved; it was, evidently, the absence of Mr. and Mrs. Braceweight that had emboldened him to keep her there dangerously late. So flustered that the ear-splitting racket outside made no impression on him, he jerked open the side door and hurried out, dragging June by the arm, into the path of Walter’s flying hell-bat.

Charles lacked the power to cover his eyes. He stood motionless, his hands spread out on the wooden board. The stop-watch, its hurrying finger arrested, gleamed up at him innocently.