Appleby's Answer by Michael Innes Page B

She was evidently very much shocked. ‘You even had the insolence to come to church.’
    â€˜Your assertions are merely absurd.’ Miss Pringle was now very angry. Although a person of sound democratic principles she resented the charge of living in Swindon. ‘My business in Long Canings’ – she added rashly – ‘has been with Captain Bulkington.’
    â€˜So much the worse. The man’s a scoundrel. And he takes in Borstal boys on parole. He has two of them now.’
    â€˜You are again most laughably mistaken. Mr Jenkins and Mr Waterbird are being prepared for entrance to Balliol College – my nephew Timothy’s college, as it happens to be. And Mr Waterbird is a Shropshire Waterbird.’
    â€˜There is no such family. So stop talking rubbish, my good woman, and raise the bonnet of your wretched little car.’
    Although this speech could scarcely be called persuasive, or even pardonable, Miss Pringle acknowledged that it held a kernel of sense. Keeping a wary eye on the hind legs of the horse, she edged round a front mudguard, pressed a spring, and swung up the bonnet. The two gentlewomen surveyed the situation. There could be no doubt about the fan-belt. It was so tangled with horsehair that the little engine had the appearance of an upholstered object disgorging its inward parts.
    The horse made an impatient noise (as it well might), causing Miss Pringle to skip hastily to the side of the road.
    â€˜Haven’t you even got a pocket-knife?’ Lady Pinkerton demanded.
    â€˜No – but haven’t you? Isn’t there usually a knife in one of those things that get stones out of horses’ hooves?’
    â€˜I am foolishly without anything of the kind.’ For a moment Lady Pinkerton was almost reasonable. ‘Won’t that fan-affair revolve? The tail might then come away from under the belt.’
    â€˜I believe if we were to push the car–’ Miss Pringle hesitated. ‘I am not quite sure. But I believe that that ’ – she pointed – ‘would then go round, so that possibly–’
    â€˜Then we’ll try. So don’t stand gaping, woman.’ Lady Pinkerton was recovering tone. ‘The horse will have to be led forward while the car is pushed. You shall push. I will lead.’
    Miss Pringle, being fair-minded, saw that this was a just and proper proposal. She therefore retreated to the tail of her car. Lady Pinkerton advanced to the head of her aggrieved mount, and urged it forward. Miss Pringle, having given a warning call, pushed. The vehicle’s initial inertia almost defeated her, but she gave an extra heave, and it moved. For a moment it was hard work – and then not so hard work. She heard the clop of the horse’s hooves from in front. At first they were slow and deliberate. Then they turned surprisingly brisk. There was a shout of rage from Lady Pinkerton; Miss Pringle found herself running with her hands resting only lightly on the boot of the car; she had a sudden and perplexing view of Lady Pinkerton in a ditch. And then car and horse simply vanished from her view. The sagacious quadruped had solved the ladies’ dilemma (in the most well-intentioned way) by converting itself into the dynamic component or a horse-drawn conveyance.
    Unfortunately there was a hill, and the incidents here described had been enacted on its brow. Miss Pringle had just hauled Lady Pinkerton to her feet – for it would have been inhumane to stand exulting at her overthrow – when a shrill neigh of terror made itself heard in a middle distance. This was followed by a crash, and the crash by an ominous silence.
    â€˜He will have broken his back,’ Lady Pinkerton said, and it was hard to tell whether her voice held horror or fury in the fuller measure. ‘You are no better than a murderess.’ For a moment Miss Pringle thought she was going to be attacked, and she noted with apprehension