And Berry Came Too Read Free Page B

five miles in my socks to help him out of his grief. He’s been a good dog to me, and I like his ways. But the game that we’re playing now would make a congenital idiot burst into tears. I mean, be honest. What sort of…”
    I heard the words die on his lips.
    As I glanced up—
    “ My God, there he is ,” screamed Berry, pointing a shaking hand. “ Stop the car, Boy. Stop. He’s making for – KNAVE! ”
    As Berry shouted, the horn of some car behind us demanded way. No human voice could compete with so deafening a blast: but, what was worse, because of the bend ahead, whoever was driving continued to hold his horn-button down.
    Raving incoherence I could not hear, Berry flung out of the Rolls, tore to a gate we had passed, and hurled himself over into the meadows it kept.
    Then the oncoming car went by, like some hag-ridden squall, and I stood up in the Rolls to see Berry running like a madman towards a billowing wood. The Knave was not to be seen. Unable to hear Berry’s voice, because of the horn, he had, no doubt, left the meadows and entered the wood.
    For a moment I wondered whether to follow Berry or to drive on past the wood before leaving the car. Then my brother-in-law settled my doubts by frantically waving me forward and making encircling gestures which none could have failed to read.
    Trembling with excitement, I took the seat I had left. The incredible had happened. If Berry was right and it was the Knave he had seen, we had achieved such a feat as no patrol had ever achieved before. With seventy miles of blind country in which to fail, we had actually intercepted…
    As I set a foot on the clutch, I heard a car coming behind, and since I was at rest, I waited, to let it go by.
    It did so – with squealing brakes.
    As it stopped, twenty paces ahead, the police on its running-boards left it, to dash to my side.
    The sergeant blared in my ear.
    “Follow that car jus’ gone by – with the ’ighpitched ’orn.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Name o’ the Law,” snapped the sergeant, and swung himself on to the step.
    Mechanically I let in the clutch…
    As the Rolls moved forward, I sought to protest again.
    “Why can’t you—”
    “Sorry, sir,” said the sergeant. “Step on it, please.” He jerked his head at the car from which he had come. “Can’t do it with that: it’s only a fifteen-’orse.”
    There was nothing to be done. Knave or no Knave, the police had to be obeyed. Reflecting rather dismally that the sooner I caught the car, the sooner I should be released, I let the Rolls go…
    As we flashed round the bend ahead—
    “What’s he done?” said I.
    “Who knows?” said the sergeant, darkly. “As like as not, they’re jool-thieves. A packet o’ jools was taken an hour ago. Anyway it’s a stolen car.”
    Neither the police nor I will ever forget that drive. The narrow, tortuous ways were forbidding high speed: crossroads gaped upon us with their mouths: blind corners frowned and threatened, and scores of road signs warned us – to no avail. Flirting with sudden death, we flouted the lot. Hereabouts, as luck would have it, the traffic was slight: such as there was we outraged, cutting in, thrusting and squeezing, as a man that elbows his way. That shouts and yells should pursue us was natural enough. Our withers were unwrung. ‘In the name of the Law’…
    Clinging to the nearside door, a sad-faced constable presently opened his mouth.
    “There’s their ’orn,” he said grimly.
    The man was right.
    As we flashed up a rise, I heard the ear-splitting note, and as we swooped over the crest, I saw the car we were chasing turn off to the left.
    The two police-whistles rang out…
    I had to slow for the corner, but though, by the time we were round, the other was not to be seen, I knew very well she was less than a furlong away. So did the police.
    “We’ll have ’em yet,” said the sergeant. “’Ow many was there, Dane?”
    “I only see one,” said Dane. “But there may