Denry being far less renowned in Hanbridge than in his
native Bursley, few persons recognised him. After the victoria had gone
by people who had heard the news too late rushed from shops and gazed at
the Countess's back as at a fading dream until the insistent clang of a
car-bell made them jump again to the footpath.
At length Denry and the Countess could see the clock of the Old Town
Hall in Crown Square and it was a minute to three. They were less than a
minute off the Institute.
"There you are!" said Denry, proudly. "Three miles if it's a yard, in
seventeen minutes. For a mule it's none so dusty."
And such was the Countess's knowledge of the language of the Five Towns
that she instantly divined the meaning of even that phrase, "none so
dusty."
They swept into Crown Square grandly.
And then, with no warning, the mule suddenly applied all the automatic
brakes which a mule has, and stopped.
"Oh Lor!" sighed Denry. He knew the cause of that arresting.
A large squad of policemen, a perfect regiment of policemen, was moving
across the north side of the square in the direction of the Institute.
Nothing could have seemed more reassuring, less harmful, than that band
of policemen, off duty for the afternoon and collected together for the
purpose of giving a hearty and policemanly welcome to their benefactress
the Countess.
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