For a moment the boy’s pronunciation had them baffled. Then, simultaneously, Charles and Hutchins began to laugh hysterically, not amused, hating each other, wanting to stop. June opened her eyes and burst into tears. Standing in the yard, with the four black smears across the concrete between them and the smell of high octane fuel still in their nostrils, they shrieked and bellowed and sobbed. The housekeeper came out and stared at them, then turned and went back.

That had finished it, of course. There was not even any point in waiting for Mr. Braceweight to come back and give him the sack. The Daimler had stood massively on its wheels and allowed Walter’s projectile to be smashed into a heap of smoking, twisted metal against its side, but the fact remained that one wing was crumpled beyond any hope of repair, a rear mudgard half torn off, and a window smashed. In addition, hot oil had splashed liberally over the whole car and ruined its glossy finish. No chauffeur could let that happen to a Daimler and keep his job.

He would, of course, take any blame that was going. He had skidded into a stone wall while driving back from Northolt: any story would do that did not involve another vehicle, whose owner might have to be identified. Walter should be—what was that word they always used in school stories?—‘shielded’. Yes, it was only fair that he should be shielded. After so devastating a disappointment it was unthinkable that he should be handed over to the attentions of a disciplinarian father on top of everything else.

Sitting moodily in his room above the garage he wrote on a sheet of cheap letter-paper:

Dear Mr. Braceweight,

When you return I am afraid you will already be annoyed at not having been met at the airport. You will notice, on getting here, that your car has gone, and so have I. It is being repaired: I will arrange for them to pick it up before I go. My negligence was responsible for its being damaged, and, in deciding that I am not a good enough chauffeur for you, I am merely antici­pating the judgment you will inevitably form for yourself. I will mention to an agency that you need a new one, and they will no doubt be sending you some applicants. As regards the cost of the repairs, you have, in the first place, a fortnight’s wages of mine that I shall not be claiming; if this does not meet the bill, and you feel I should pay the rest, please communicate with me c/o Charing Cross Road Post Office, London.

It may be, of course, that you will take steps to have me arrested in order to make sure of reimbursement. In that case it is only fair to warn you that I shall make a very determined effort to evade the police. But I do not think you will.