to get a new piece of silk for my wristwatch. Besides, I can sit in the
car while you and Berry are at the sale. That'll save your taking the
chauffeur." We agreed readily enough.

Because Adèle was with us we started in good time, so that we could go
by way of Hickory Hammer and Three Horse Hill. That way would bring us
on to the London road at a point five miles from Brooch, and, while the
view from the hill was as fine as any in the neighbourhood, Hickory
Hammer was not only extremely ancient, but generally accounted one of
the most picturesque villages in the whole of England.

I was driving, with Nobby beside me, while Adèle and Berry sat on the
back seat. Our thoughts were not unnaturally dwelling upon the sale, and
now and again I caught fragments of conversation which suggested that my
brother-in-law was commenting upon the power of money and the
physiognomy of Mr. Dunkelsbaum--whose photograph had appeared in the
paper that very morning, to grace an interview--with marked acerbity.
Once in a while a ripple of laughter from Adèle came to my ears, but for
the most part it was a grave discourse, for Berry felt very bitter, and
Adèle, whose father's father was the son of an English squire, had taken
to heart the imminent disseizure with a rare sympathy.

It was five minutes to two when we slid out of Lullaby Coppice and on to
the London road. A furlong ahead the road swung awkwardly to the left--a
bend which the unexpected _débouchement_ of a by-road rendered a
veritable pitfall for the unwary motorist. I slowed for the turn
cautiously, for I knew the place, but I was not surprised when, on
rounding the corner, we found ourselves confronted with a state of
affairs presenting all the elements of a first-class smash.