'Hoy, mister, stop,' called a voice. Gethryn turned. A man was running
up the road towards him.

He arrived panting.

'What's up?' said the Bishop.

'You've got a puncture,' said the man, pointing an accusing finger at
the flattened tyre.

It was not worth while killing the brute. Probably he was acting from
the best motives.

'No,' said Gethryn wearily, 'it isn't a puncture. I always let the air
out when I'm riding. It looks so much better, don't you think so? Why
did they let you out? Good-bye.'

And feeling a little more comfortable after this outburst, he wheeled
his bicycle on into Anfield High Street.

Minds in the village of Anfield worked with extraordinary rapidity. The
first person of whom he asked the way to the Junction answered the
riddle almost without thinking. He left his machine out in the road and
went on to the platform. The first thing that caught his eye was the
station clock with its hands pointing to five past four. And when he
realized that, his uncle's train having left a clear half hour before,
his labours had all been for nothing, the full bitterness of life came
home to him.

He was turning away from the station when he stopped. Something else