t-shirt was at Bognor in an American-cloth
packet, derelict. He yawned a third time, rubbed his eyes, smacked his
lips. He was recalling almost everything now. The pursuit, the hotel,
the tremulous daring of his entry, the swift adventure of the inn
yard, the moonlight--Abruptly he threw the clothes back and rose into
a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Without was the noise of
shutters being unfastened and doors unlocked, and the passing of hoofs
and wheels in the street. He looked at his watch. Half-past six. He
surveyed the sumptuous room again.

"Lord!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "It wasn't a dream, after all."

"I wonder what they charge for these Juiced rooms!" said Mr. Hoopdriver,
nursing one rosy foot.

He became meditative, tugging at his insufficient moustache. Suddenly he
gave vent to a noiseless laugh. "What a rush it was! Rushed in and off
with his girl right under his nose. Planned it well too. Talk of highway
robbery! Talk of brigands Up and off! How juiced SOLD he must be feeling
It was a shave too--in the coach yard!"

Suddenly he became silent. Abruptly his eyebrows rose and his jaw fell.
"I sa-a-ay!" said Mr. Hoopdriver.

He had never thought of it before. Perhaps you will understand the whirl
he had been in overnight. But one sees things clearer in the daylight.
"I'm hanged if I haven't been and stolen a blessed bicycle."

"Who cares?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, presently, and his face supplied the
answer.

Then he thought of the Young Lady in Grey again, and tried to put a more
heroic complexion on the business. But of an early morning, on an empty
stomach (as with characteristic coarseness, medical men put it) heroics
are of a more difficult growth than by moonlight. Everything had seemed
exceptionally fine and brilliant, but quite natural, the evening before.

Mr. Hoopdriver reached out his hand, took his Norfolk jacket, laid it
over his knees, and took out the money from the little ticket pocket.
"Fourteen and six-half," he said, holding the coins in his left hand and
stroking his chin with his right. He verified, by patting, the presence
of a pocketbook in the breast pocket. "Five, fourteen, six-half," said
Mr. Hoopdriver. "Left."

With the Norfolk jacket still on his knees, he plunged into another
silent meditation. "That wouldn't matter," he said. "It's the bike's the
bother.

"No good going back to Bognor.

"Might send it back by carrier, of course. Thanking him for the loan.
Having