But when he got to the fork between the Huntingdon Road and the
Cottenham Road, both roads were clear.

He spent some time in hesitation. Then he went along the Huntingdon
Road until he came upon a road-mender, and learnt that Benham had
passed that way. "Going pretty fast 'e was," said the road-mender,
"and whipping 'is 'orse. Else you might 'a thought 'e was a boltin'
with 'im." Prothero decided that if Benham came back at all he
would return by way of Cottenham, and it was on the Cottenham Road
that at last he encountered his friend again.

Benham was coming along at that good pace which all experienced
horses when they are fairly turned back towards Cambridge display.
And there was something odd about Benham, as though he had a large
circular halo with a thick rim. This, it seemed, had replaced his
hat. He was certainly hatless. The warm light of the sinking sun
shone upon the horse and upon Benham's erect figure and upon his
face, and gleams of fire kept flashing from his head to this rim,
like the gleam of drawn swords seen from afar. As he drew nearer
this halo detached itself from him and became a wheel sticking up
behind him. A large, clumsy-looking bicycle was attached to the
dog-cart behind. The expression of Benham's golden face was still a
stony expression; he regarded his friend with hard eyes.

"You all right, Benham?" cried Prothero, advancing into the road.

His eye examined the horse. It looked all right, if anything it was
a trifle subdued; there was a little foam about its mouth, but not
very much.