He was a countryman, a small farmer or hired man, I should judge—a broad-faced, red-bearded, wide-shouldered, pleasant-looking fellow, and he must have been walking for some distance on the grass by the roadside, though what made him step the few yards out of his way to look round the corner of the wall, I have never discovered to this day. Possibly he meant to descend to the beach at that point. Anyhow there he was, and as we looked into one another’s eyes for a moment in silence I could tell as surely as if he had said the words that he had heard the story of the suspicious motorcyclist.
IV
The Nails
“A fine afternoon,” I remarked, without rising, and I hope without showing any sign of emotion other than pleasure at making an acquaintance.
“Aye,” said he, briefly and warily.
This discouraging manner was very ominous, for the man was as good-natured and agreeable-looking a fellow as I ever met.
“The weather looks like keeping up,” I said.
He continued to look at me steadily, and made no answer at all this time. Then he turned his back to me very deliberately, lifted his felt hat, and waved it two or three times round his head, evidently to someone in the distance. I saw instantly that mischief was afoot and time precious, yet the fellow was evidently determined and stouthearted, besides being physically very powerful, and it would never do to rouse his suspicions to the pitch of grappling with me. Of course I might use my revolver, but I had no wish to add a civilian’s death to the other charge I might have to face before that sun had set. Suddenly luck served me well again by putting into my head a well-known English cant phrase.
“Are you often taken like that?” I inquired with a smile.
He turned round again and stared blankly. I imitated the movement of waving a hat, and laughed.
“Or is it a family custom?” I asked.
He was utterly taken aback, and looked rather foolish. I sat still and continued to smile at him. And then he broke into a smile himself.
“I was just waving on a friend,” he explained, and I could detect a note of apology in his voice. For the moment he was completely hoodwinked. How long it would last Heaven knew, but I clearly could not afford to imitate Mr. Asquith, and “wait and see.”
“Oh,” I said with a laugh, “I see!”
And then I glanced at my wristlet watch, and sprang to my feet with an exclamation.
“By Jove, I’ll be late!” I said, and picking up my cycle wheeled it briskly to the road, remarking genially as I went, “the days are not so long as they were!”
I never saw a man more obviously divided in mind. Was I the suspicious person he fancied at first? Or was I an honest and peaceable gentleman? Meanwhile I had cast one brief but sufficient glance along the road. Just at the foot of the steep hill down which I had come in the morning a man was mounting a motorcycle. Beside him stood one or two others—country folk, so far as I could judge at the distance, and piecing things together, it seemed plain that my friend had lately been one of the party, and that the man they had been gossiping with was a motorcyclist in search of me, who had actually paused to make inquiries within little over a quarter of a mile from where I sat. Quite possibly he had been there for some time, and almost certainly he would have ridden past without suspecting my presence if it had not been for the diabolical mishap of this chance encounter.
I had planted my cycle on the road, and was ready to mount before my friend had made up his mind what to do. Even then his procedure luckily lacked decision.
“Beg pardon, sir—!” he began, making a step towards me.
“Good evening!” I shouted, and the next instant the engine had started, and I was in my saddle.
Even then my pursuer had got up so much speed that he must surely have caught me had he not stopped to make inquiry of my late acquaintance. I was rounding a corner at the moment, and so was able to glance over my shoulder and see what was happening. The cyclist was then in the act of remounting, and I noted that he was in very dark clothes. It might or might not have been a uniform, but I fancied it was. Anyhow, I felt peculiarly little enthusiasm for making his acquaintance.
On I sped, working rapidly up to forty miles an hour, and quite careless now of any little sensation I might cause. I had sensations myself, and did not grudge them to other people. The road quickly left the coast and turned directly inland, and presently it began to wind along the edge of a long reedy stretch of water, with a steep bank above it on the other side. The windings gave me several chances of catching a glimpse of my pursuer, and I saw that I was gaining nothing; in fact, if anything he was overhauling me.
“I’ll try them!” I said to myself.
“Them” were nails. Wiedermann had done me no more than justice in assuming I had come well provided against possible contingencies. Each of my side-pockets had a little packet of large-headed, sharp-pointed nails. I had several times thrown them experimentally on the floor of my cabin, and found that a gratifying number lay point upwards. I devoutly prayed they would behave as reasonably now.
This stretch of road was ideal for their use—narrow, and with not a house to give succour or a spectator to witness such a very suspicious performance, I threw a handful behind me, and at the next turn of the road glanced round to see results. The man was still going strong. I threw
