"Your muscles get stiff," said Jonah, "and you get stuck. Hurts like
anything. I've had it."

"Now you know," said I, selecting a sausage. "Will you be ready by
hall-past eleven (winter time) or must we lunch here?"

"I'm ready now," said Jill. "But you and Jonah said it was indecent to
start earlier."

"So it is. We shall get to Pistol comfortably in an hour and a half, and
if we start again at half-past two, we shall be in London for tea."

Jonah rose and limped to the window.

"I'll tell you one thing," he said. "It's going to be a devilish cold
run."

* * * * *

Jonah was right.

We sat all three upon the front seat, but even so we were hard put to it
to keep warm. The prospect of a hot lunch at Pistol was pleasant indeed.
Jonah was driving, and the Rolls slid through the country like a great
grey bird, sailing and swooping and swerving so gracefully that it was
difficult to believe the tale which the speedometer told. Yet this was
true enough, for it was not a quarter to one when we swept round the
last corner and into the long straight reach of tarmac, at the top of
which lay the village we sought.