It appeared that M. Feriaud did even more than this. Posters round the
ground advertised the fact that, on receipt of five pounds, he would
take up a passenger with him. To date, however, there appeared to have
been no rush on the part of the canny inhabitants of Lexingham to avail
themselves of this chance of a breath of fresh air. M. Feriaud, a small
man with a chubby and amiable face, wandered about signing picture
cards and smoking a lighted cigaret, looking a little disappointed.

Albert Potter was scornful.

"Lot of rabbits," he said. "Where's their pluck? And I suppose they
call themselves Englishmen. I'd go up precious quick if I had a
five-pound note. Disgrace, I call it, letting a Frenchman have the
laugh of us."

It was a long speech for Mr. Potter, and it drew a look of respectful
tenderness from Muriel. "You're so brave, Mr. Potter," she said.

Whether it was the slight emphasis which she put on the first word, or
whether it was sheer generosity that impelled him, one can not say; but
Roland produced the required sum even while she spoke. He offered it to
his rival.

Mr. Potter started, turned a little pale, then drew himself up and
waved the note aside.

"I take no favors," he said with dignity.

There was a pause.