“Oh, quite,” he answered, striving to imitate her nonchalance. “H’m, yes, quite. Er—I wonder what we’d better do now.” “Well, I think we’ll move away from here first. She may have a bath handy, mayn’t she?” Somewhat depressed, they made their way back to the car. The desire to borrow a file in our rural districts is apparently attended by the most unforeseen results. “Well, there’s only one thing for it,” said the indomitable Mr. Priestley. “We must try somewhere else.” As they scrambled mournfully aboard Laura began for the first time seriously to contemplate giving up the whole thing. The tables had been turned on her. She had gone forth in the lightness of her heart, and she had been received with cold water. She felt she had a more than ordinarily big grievance against the wielder of that pitcher. Why couldn’t the idiot have seen that she was having a glorious rag with Mr. Priestley and played up accordingly? It was most annoying. And now she was wet through, chilled to the bone, and very hungry, her teeth were chattering, her hands were cold, and she didn’t like handcuffs one little bit. Why not chuck the whole silly joke (as it was now quite plainly displaying itself to be) and go back to warmth, comfort, and files? Guy would have squared that blundering policeman by this time, and the coast would be clear. Her heart began to rise from its gloom. Then it sank abruptly. Home was thirty certain miles away, and unknown miles at that—probably sixty before they had finished losing their way. At least two hours, if not more. And in two hours’ time, in the present state of things, Laura had no doubt she would be a solid block of ice, and still handcuffed to another block of ice. Oh, _drat_! “Well, where are we going?” she asked quite peevishly as they left the ill-omened village behind them. Mr. Priestley was surprised at the peevishness. It did not harmonise with the height of the profession. Also he mildly resented it. It was as if she were blaming him for that confounded water. “Te try our luck somewhere else, I suppose,” he replied almost tartly. “Unless you can think of a better plan?” he added nastily. It was on the tip of Laura’s tongue to reply that she certainly could not have thought of a worse one, but she refrained. She was just a girl, and she did realise that Mr. Priestley had not emptied that water over himself and her on purpose. She said nothing. They drove on in moody silence. “A file!” cried Mr. Priestley to his immortal soul. “My bachelor flat for a file!” “A fire and food!” rose Laura’s silent wail. “This whole silly joke, and all future rights in hoaxing the Police Force, for fire and food!” They drove on and on and on.