Free The Mysterious Commission by Michael Innes Page B

sir?’
    ‘Excellent.’ The air now so freely admitted was soon going to prove uncommonly chilly, but Honeybath turned up his collar and was resolved to suffer it gladly. He would at least stay awake. So, even if he could make little of their route, he would be able to reckon just how long the journey took, and remark eventually from what direction they entered London. In a way, he oughtn’t to be caring a damn. So long as he was returned to Chelsea (and not dumped into the Thames) the affair would be ending reasonably enough. But he was a little on his mettle. It would be satisfactory to collect at least one trick.
     
    They drove for a surprisingly long time, and entirely through rural solitudes. A good deal of careful planning, Honeybath thought, must have gone to finding a seemingly endless succession of country roads which didn’t traverse so much as a single identifiable hamlet. They covered at least fifty miles that way. And fifty miles represents a considerable stretch of territory in tight little England.
    Something was happening to the engine. It was misfiring in a manner not at all pardonable in a car of this kind. The car began to move jerkily; to lose momentum and then pick up again. There was something wrong with the ignition, or with the feed. Suddenly all the lights went out, and Honeybath thought he could actually hear the chauffeur swear loudly as he abruptly drew to a halt. Then there was the swaying light of an electric torch, and the man had opened a door and was getting out. He came at once to Honeybath’s open window.
    ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but I’m afraid it’s the alternator. It’s quite shocking, the way even high-class cars are turned out of British factories these days. What kind of a foreign market can they expect?’
    ‘What kind, indeed.’ Honeybath didn’t much mind about this. The whole wide world was already abominably over-crammed with cars. But he did feel impatient. ‘Can you fix it yourself?’
    ‘Oh, yes. No difficulty, sir, about a temporary repair. But it may take the best part of a quarter of an hour. Very sorry, sir – but that’s how it is. Would you care for the rug, sir? A chilly night.’
    Honeybath accepted the rug. He was a little assuaged by this ready solicitude. The chauffeur raised the bonnet of the car, and together with the torch more or less disappeared beneath it. There were tinkering sounds. Quite a long time passed. Honeybath fidgeted. Eventually the man reappeared.
    ‘The alignment’s been faulty from the start, sir, if you ask me. It’s bound to take a bit longer than I reckoned. If another car came by, I think I’d have them take a message to the nearest garage. It could probably provide a car to run you into town. I’ve no doubt it’s what Mr Arbuthnot would desire. He would be most upset at your being put to this inconvenience.’
    ‘That’s not a bad idea.’ Rather wildly, Honeybath reflected that, once safely in a hired vehicle, he would be secure against even that remote possibility of being chucked into a river. ‘Wasn’t that something like a main road that we shot across a quarter of a mile back?’
    ‘Yes, sir – and quite a lot of traffic. I wonder whether you would care to walk back yourself, and hail something. You’d have the authority, in a manner of speaking.’
    ‘I think I will.’ Honeybath was gratified at having authority attributed to him. He was even more gratified by the mere blind thought of getting away.
    ‘I have a second torch, sir. So you needn’t be blundering in the dark.’ The chauffeur dived into his own part of the interior, and the second torch was produced. ‘Stretch your legs, anyway,’ he said benevolently.
    So Honeybath set out. He hadn’t walked fifty yards before being cheered by a flash of headlamps somewhere ahead of him. He could certainly stop a car. People were very decent, on the whole, about that sort of thing.
    He became aware of a sound behind him. There must be another car