“And as the pilot hadn’t left the machine he was able to start up quickly. They just managed to heave themselves aboard as the thing was airborne. Then of course this chap Hayes, the pilot, showed resistance, and in the scuffle the inspector took a knock that laid him out, which was particularly unfortunate as the whole point of choosing him had lain in his ability to take the controls in an emergency. He belongs to the local flying club.”

“Beddoes!” said Brett, feeling slightly weak, “what did you threaten that pilot with?”

“I didn’t threaten him, sir,” said Beddoes, with angelic voice and mien. “I’m afraid, sir, I had to incapacitate him.”

“How?”

“With a kick, sir, in the first place. Then I’m afraid I had to hit him when he went down. On the chin, sir, and the nose, but not to breaking point. Then, sir, I sat down at the controls. I made a few experiments—”

“Yes, I know!”

“I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to hit the car. And finally I managed to bring the machine down.”

“Very creditably, considering everything,” said the Superintendent. “Of course the undercarriage was completely buckled, but what’s that, after all? The jolt brought the inspector round. He switched the rotors off for us, and the engine—yes, what is it?”

A head and a uniformed shoulder were poked round the door. “The girl’s father’s just arrived, sir.”

“Oh, yes. I’ll be out in a second.” The Superintendent turned to Brett. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go and soothe parental agitation. She seems a nice girl.”

“Very nice,” said Brett.

The Superintendent went out and closed the door.

“Boil me!” said Beddoes in a low and pithy voice. He sat down on the edge of the table. “A very nice girl. Boil me! I never get these jobs with nice bits of blonde crackling thrown in. No, no—send the sergeant chasing down the Dover road after a load of perishing Christmas puddings, that’ll do for him.”

“Beddoes, I’m sorry. I thought, about that brake, what they thought, except that I counted on the lot and they on Majendie’s party piece. And I don’t remember that you put forward other suggestions. Weren’t you surprised?”

“Surprised! You should have seen it. Not just the puds—pâte, sausages, fruit, turkey, cigars, enough to feast a battalion, all rolling over the road. The doors burst open, you see. Prize picking in that ditch, I reckon. There’ll be tramps passing the sign the length and breadth of England. On the way here they were telling me that Majendie’s Christmas and New Year parties are famed in the district, especially at Nackington.”

“Nackington?”

“Traffic H.Q. Apparently his guests by the time they leave, have usually formed an idiosyncratic interpretation of the highway code, and I can well believe it. Of course, I thought of picking a pud apart to see where the diamonds were.”