ffeur was standing opposite
his Chief's table, ready to go anywhere and do anything.

"To-morrow will be Sunday, Tims."

"Yessir."

"A day of rest."

"Yessir!"

"We are going out to Hempdon, near Selford," Malcolm Sage continued,
pointing to the map. Tims stepped forward and bent over to identify
the spot. "The car will break down. It will take you or any other
mechanic two hours to put it right."

"Yessir," said Tims, straightening himself.

"You understand," said Malcolm Sage, looking at him sharply, "you
_or any other mechanic?"_

"Yessir," repeated Tims, his face sphinx-like in its lack of
expression.

He was a clean-shaven, fleshless little man who, had he not been a
chauffeur, would probably have spent his life with a straw between
his teeth, hissing lullabies to horses.

"I shall be ready at nine," said Malcolm Sage, and with another
"Yessir" Tims turned to go.

"And Tims."

"Yessir." He about-faced smartly on his right heel. "You might
apologise for me to Mrs. Tims for depriving her of you on Sunday.
Take her out to dinner on Monday and charge it to me."

"Thank you, sir, very much, sir," said Tims, his face expressionless.

"That is all, Tims, thank you."

Tims turned once more and left the room. As he walked towards the
outer door he winked at Gladys Norman and, with a sudden dive, made
a frightful riot of William Johnson's knut-like hair. Then, without
change of expression, he passed out to tune up the car for its run
on the morrow.

Malcolm Sage's staff knew that when "the Chief" was what Tims called
"chatty" he was beginning to see light, so Tims whistled loudly at
his work: for he, like all his colleagues, was pleased when "the
Chief" saw reason to be pleased.

The following morning, as they trooped out of church, the
inhabitants of Hempdon were greatly interested in the break-down of
a large car, which seemed to defy the best efforts of the chauffeur
to coax into movement. The owner drank cider at the Spotted
Woodpigeon and talked pleasantly with the villagers, who, on
learning that he had never even heard of the Surrey cattle-maimings,
were at great pains to pour information and theories into his
receptive ear.

The episode quite dwarfed the remarkable sermon preached by Mr.
Callice, in which he exhorted his congregation to band themselves
together to track down him who was maiming and torturing God's
creatures, and defying the Master's merciful teaching.

It was Tom Hinds, a