I hope London’s trust in me is not misplaced, thought Hewell as he sought his valise under roadside ferns. He spotted the leather case, still buckled, its sheaf of papers safe, and drawing it from among the fronds, climbed out of the ditch to stand beside the carriage. Always fond of a good puzzle, Hewell was none too keen on mysteries; and unfortunately, events of the morning suggested more of the latter were in store for his afternoon.
He offered the harried driver a hand strapping their trunks back in place. The man had finally managed to calm the more nervous of the two horses, understandably shaken after the affright, or attack, or whatever it had been. When the incident occurred, even though it was still shy of noon, Hewell had been dozing uneasily inside the compartment. His seat suddenly slewed, twisting him out of a restless dream, flinging him first against the door and then through it, onto a blessedly mossy embankment. The coach had very nearly toppled over onto him. Thank God for a skilled driver and at least one imperturbable horse.