lady's machine out of his way to the door, and then laid hands on the man's machine and wheeled it out of the shed into the yard. The gate stood open and beyond was the pale road and a clump of trees black in the twilight. He stooped and examined the chain with trembling fingers. How was it to be done? Something behind the gate seemed to flutter. The man must be got rid of anyhow.
"I say," said Hoopdriver, with an inspiration, "can you get me a screwdriver?"
The man simply walked across the shed, opened and shut a box, and came up to the kneeling Hoopdriver with a screwdriver in his hand. Hoopdriver felt himself a lost man. He took the screwdriver with a tepid "Thanks," and incontinently had another inspiration.
"I say," he said again.
"Well?"
"This is Miles too big."
The man lit the lantern, brought it up to Hoopdriver and put it down on the ground. "Want a smaller screwdriver?" he said.
Hoopdriver had his handkerchief out and sneezed a prompt atichew. It is the orthodox thing when you wish to avoid recognition. "As small as you have," he said, out of his pocket handkerchief.
