The boy ran to his father and clung to his leg. The man ruffled his son's hair as he replied, 'Chapelvale. 'Ow's
Georgy supposed to know, eh, 'e's only a child!'
Gripper tried a friendly smile, it looked more like a leer. 'Then p'raps you can tell me where Chapelvale is, eh,
mate?'
The farmer did not like strangers. His big fists clenched. 'No I can't, an' I'm not your mate. Now, get on your
way, quick!'
Gripper drew himself up in a dignified manner and strode back to the motorcar, which was still running. He
shouted back, 'Stoopid big lump. Bet you'd 'ave trouble findin' your own be'ind with both hands!'
The fanner picked up a stone from the roadside. Gripper shoved his loudly garbed associate into the vehicle,
leapt in after him, and accelerated off down the lane.
Gripper was the driver. The flashy one in the front with him was, aptly enough, named Flash. The two backseats
were occupied by Chunk, a massive, unintelligent specimen who wore a suit three sizes too small and a pearl-grey
bowler hat perched on his shaven skull; and Chaz, a small, weaselly type, dressed in a frock-tailed morning coat and
pin-striped pants, a size too large. In lieu of a shirt or collar he wore a knotted scarf of once-white silk. He was
perpetually sniggering at anything and everything, which was what he did as soon as they were out of stone- throwing
range.
'Heeheehee, we're lost! I told yer, didn't I, Gripp. Hee-hee!'
Gripper clenched the brass steering wheel tight, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. 'Shut yer gob, Chaz,
or I'll belt yer one 'round the 'ead, on me oath I will!'
But Chaz would not be silenced. 'Why go onna train, 'e sez, let's keep the money an' steal a motorcar. Leave it
to me, 'e sez, I'll find Chapelvale. When're yer gonna find it, Gripp, eh? Next week? Heeheehee!'
They all lurched to one side as Gripper threw the car around a hairpin bend, bumping off the high-banked grass
verge. He snorted aloud in frustration. 'Shut 'im up, willyer, Chunk; give the flamin' nuisance a smack fer me!'
Chunk took Chaz's scrawny neck in one huge paw, rendering him helpless. 'Where d'ya want me to biff 'im,
Gripp? In the eye?'
Chaz pleaded. 'No no, 'e doesn't want yer to biff me anywhere!'
'Ho yes I do!' replied Gripper. 'Biff 'im where y'like, Chunk.'
In biffing people, Chunk always preferred the nose. Chaz had quite a big beaky nose, so Chunk biffed it
enthusiastically. Chaz squealed and fell back in the seat, his nose bleeding profusely. He held the dirty silk scarf to it.
'Wot didjer do dat for? Be dose is broke!'
Chunk felt no sympathy or enmity toward Chaz. 'I did it 'cos Gripper tole me to. Ain't that right, Gripp?'
Gripper carried on watching the road. 'Right, Chunk, now per'aps 'e'll stop makin' smart remarks!'
Flash had noticed a milestone. 'It said arf a mile to Church 'aven on that stone, Gripp. Must be wot that place is
called.'
They drove into the village of Church Haven and stopped outside the post office. Gripper went in to ask for
directions; a kindly, old, silver-haired postmistress came out onto the street with him to explain things.
'Chapelvale, sir, my goodness but you are a long, long way from there. Where have you come from?'
Gripper was losing patience, but trying to stay polite. 'London, marm, but which way is it to Chapelvale?'
The old lady shook her head wistfully. 'I've never been to London, but I hear 'tis a wonderful city, St. Paul's
Cathedral, Buckingham Palace. It must be so nice to live there. Do you ever see Her Majesty Queen Victoria?'
Flash leaned out of the car. 'Lots o' times, me ole darlin'. We seen 'er only last week, didn't we, Gripp.'
Gripper shot him a murderous glance, but he carried on. 'Oh yes, we're special messengers for 'Er Majesty the
Queen. That's why we got ter get to Chapelvale. So could you tell us the way?'
The postmistress was only too willing to help royal couriers. 'Most certainly—head straight down the High
Street and take a left turn at the bottom, where you can't go any further. Then you'll be on the road to Great Sutley.
You'll pass through there and on to Little Sutley, then Sutley-on-the-Marsh. Take a right there and make for
Vetchley-on-the-Wold. Now, when you get there ...'
Gripper got into the motorcar. 'That'll do, we'll find it from there. Thanks, marm!'
She caught sight of Chaz in the backseat. 'Oh dear, your poor friend's nose is bleeding. Has he been injured?'
Gripper pulled the motoring goggles over his eyes. 'No, he's all right, marm. Sometimes 'e gets the nosebleeds
with motorin', speed of the car, y'know. We been traveling at twenny-five miles an hour most o' the way.'
She gasped at the thought. 'Twenty-five miles an hour! It's a wonder you aren't all dead. Wait there, I'll get him
a clean, damp cloth and a drink of water.'
She scurried inside the post office. Gripper drove off with Chunk complaining from the backseat. 'Why didn't
ya wait, Gripp? I coulda done wiv a drink o' water.'
They clattered off down the cobbled High Street in a cloud of exhaust fumes, arguing among themselves.
'Look, never mind the water, we can't 'ang about all day!'
'I'b bleedin' to death through be dose, you should ob waited an' let 'er see t'me.'
'Shut yer mouf, Chaz, or I'll stop the motor an' give you annuder one. Where did she say to turn left, Flash,
Little Sut-ford on the Wold or Vetchley in the Marsh?'
'I dunno, I thought you was lissenin' to 'er. Pass us one o' those sandwiches yore missus made, willyer, Chunk.'
'She made those sangwiches fer me, not youse lot. Any'ow, I et am all. That's why I'm firsty for a drink o'
water.'
'Big fat greedy pig, didyer 'ear that, Gripp. 'E's scoffed all the sandwiches, the rotten ole lard barrel!'
'Sharrap, the three of youse! I'm tryin' t'think. Sharrap!'
'Are you finkin' why there's a fence acrosst the road, Gripp? Well, that's 'cos the lady tole yer to turn left
