When he arrived at the top it was to discover Nurse Kettle seated by the roadside in gloomy contemplation of her bicycle which stood upside down on its saddle and handlebars.

‘Hallo, Commander,’ said Nurse Kettle, ‘I’ve got a puncture.’

‘Evening. Really? Bore for you,’ Syce shot out at her.

‘I can’t make up me great mind to push her the three miles to Chyning so I’m going to have a shot at running repairs. Pumping’s no good,’ said Nurse Kettle.

She had opened a tool kit and was looking dubiously at its contents. Syce hung off and on, and watched her make a pass with a lever at her tyre.

‘Not like that,’ he shouted when he could no longer endure it. ‘Great grief, you’ll get nowhere that fashion.’

‘I believe you.’

‘And in any case, you’ll want a bucket of water to find the puncture.’ She looked helplessly at him. ‘Here!’ he mumbled. ‘Give it here.’

He righted the bicycle and with a further, completely inaudible remark began to wheel it down his drive. Nurse Kettle gathered up her tool kit and followed. A look strangely compounded of compassion and amusement had settled on her face.

Commander Syce wheeled the bicycle into a gardener’s shed and without the slightest attempt at any further conversation set about the removal of the tyre. Nurse Kettle hitched herself up on a bench and watched him. Presently she began to talk.

‘I am obliged to you. I’ve had a bit of a day. Epidemic in the village, odd cases all over the place and then this happens. There! Aren’t you neat-fingered. I looked in at Nunspardon this evening,’ she continued. ‘Lady Lacklander’s got a Toe and Dr Mark arranged for me to do the fomentations.’

Commander Syce made an inarticulate noise.

‘If you ask me the new baronet’s feeling his responsibilities. Came in just as I was leaving. Very bad colour and jumpy,’ Nurse Kettle gossiped cosily. She swung her short legs and interrupted herself from time to time to admire Syce’s handiwork. ‘Pity!’ she thought. ‘Shaky hands. Alcoholic skin. Nice chap, too. Pity!’

He repaired the puncture and replaced the tube and tyre. When he had finished and made as if to stand up, he gave a sharp cry of pain, clapped his hands to the small of his back and sank down again on his knees.

‘Hal-lo!’ Nurse Kettle ejaculated. ‘What’s all this? ’Bago?’

Commander Syce swore under his breath. Between clenched teeth he implored her to go away. ‘Most frightfully sorry,’ he groaned. ‘Ask you to excuse me. Ach!’