tely. 'But would it inconvenience you very much to climb down
and recover my hat? It lies yonder, against the furze. With one of
the lamps you will find it easily.'

'Can't you climb down yourself and fetch it? I'll hold the reins.'
The voice was husky, the tone ungracious.

'No, ma'am. Dapple is restive to-night, and I prefer--if you'll
forgive me--not to trust him to a lady and a stranger. If you
refuse, my hat must e'en remain where it lies.'

The figure rose, as if upon a sudden resolve, and set one foot on the
step.

'I'll fetch it for you. But being driven to-night is cold work, and
I won't trouble you any further. Hand me down my bag, please.'

The stranger climbed out and stood beside the step, with one hand
holding on to the edge of the footboard.

'Come, hand me down my bag.'

For answer Doctor Unonius lifted his foot and brought it down
suddenly on the hand, grinding his heel into the fingers. At the
same moment the whiplash fell over Dapple's haunches. There was a
yell of pain, a wild curse, a scuttering of hoofs, and the old horse,
unaccustomed to the whip and well-nigh scared out of his senses,
plunged forward into the night.

For a minute or so Doctor Unonius, as he called to Dapple and plied
the whip, fancied that in the intervals of these encouragements he
caught the sound of footsteps pursuing him down the hard road.
But the chase, if chase were given, was vain from the first: for
Dapple tore along as though the devil himself sat behind the
splashboard.

But while the gig swayed and rocked, and while the wind sung past his
ears, Doctor Unonius thrust a foot out, and steadying it against the
hard bag, enjoyed some crowded moments of glorious life. After all
these sedentary years adventure had swooped on him out of the night
and was wafting him along in a sort of ecstasy. If the hand were,
after all, a woman's, he could never forgive himself. . . . But it
was not: of that he felt sure. Complete success had crowned his
simple manoeuvre. He felt all the exhilaration of a born student who
suddenly discovers he can be practical--the sort of exhilaration
Cicero felt, to his surprise, in dealing with the conspiracy of
Catiline, and never during the rest of his life forgot.

It was hard on Dapple, but the doctor urged him for a mile before his
natural kind-heartedness reasserted itself and he reined up the good
old horse, to breathe him.

Now was his time to have a look at the bag.