"You " snarled Spragge. "I've warned you once: now you can have it."

I almost laughed: how many men had said words to that effect in days gone by? And with the same result. Spragge shot out a fist like a leg of mutton, which encountered air, and the next instant he was lying flat on his back in the middle of the road, completely knocked out.

"Quick, Peter," said Hugh urgently. " Sling the blighter into the back of the car, and we'll take him to the farm. Heaven forbid, old man," he chuckled as the Bentley spun up the track, "that we should be so grossly inhuman as to leave this poor injured fellow lying in the road. His wife's tender care is essential, and—keep your eyes skinned. We might spot something."