Once again we are beholden to the current executors of the Knolly estate for letting us publish this, the second package of the great man's journals and memoirs.

The silence that followed led me to believe that this was not the reaction that had been expected. Looking up from my vantage point on the ground, the only similarity to the vehicle that I had left with the three of them, but a few days ago, was that it had four wheels and was red in colour. Other than that, it was immediately apparent that it was a totally different beast indeed. I surmised that even if I had somehow not noticed the small gun carriage at the back that mounted the Maxim gun (of course), I would still have noticed that the car was somewhat altered.

I was flummoxed. I wondered what Auntie might say. I wondered what the local constabulary might have to say about it. I wondered whether the insurance premiums might be affected by the alterations. I wondered how the modifications might affect the eventual re-sale value. I wondered if the gun might impact my ability to properly park the vehicle, although I did realise that it might help me were I to be in competition for a parking space.

I wanted to ask: 'What the deuce have you done to my little automobile?' Whereas, all that came out was a cheery sounding:

'The machine gun fitted all right, then?'

'Indeed, yes!' said Hobbes.

'It took a bit of fiddling to make it fully detachable – hence the additional towing device. But we were quite proud of the finished article in the end.'

He spoke in his wonderfully enthusiastic and ebullient manner that – at this particular point in time – was quite frankly downright annoying.

'Good, good.' I lied (unconvincingly, I thought).

'But, it's not quite the adornment for going shopping with, is it?'

I could not help but continue to stare.

Bertie had failed to notice my demeanour and waved me forward with a hearty:

'Come on up! Why don't you?'

I did not really know what to do. I mean, I'd hardly been able to get acquainted with the vehicle, and already it had become a stranger. It was certainly a good that job Elspeth was not around at the time, for she would have enjoyed herself far too much at my expense.

I looked to Hobbes who gave a beaming smile, which sent his mad eyebrows into seeming apoplexy.

'It really is a work of art,' he said. 'Young Louis pulled out all the stops and I managed to keep Bertie from driving it!'

I noticed that Bertie looked a little uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet, his eyes askant.

'Really?' I asked.

'Well, no, not really,' admitted Hobbes.

'He persuaded me to let him take it for a short drive around the local roads once we'd made the alterations. It needed to be tested, after all. Alas it turned out to be rather a long drive.'

'And I was very careful,' called Bertie. 'Very careful indeed!'

'Good,' I added, somewhat relieved. 'Well done.'

'At least, I was a great deal more careful than the driver of the haywain,' he mumbled.

I held my head in my hands.

'Go on,' I sighed. 'What happened?'

Bertie and Hobbes explained that the junket had started off very well and with no incident. However, after several minutes, Bertie decided that he needed to void himself. Finding a quiet lane, he parked the car behind a tree, and then executed his micturitions in a most discrete manner against a separate tree. After buttoning his fly, he returned to the car. Only he didn't; it had gone!

Bertie at first thought that it had been stolen and became most anguished. He was mightily relieved to find that this was not the case, and that in fact he had simply forgotten to apply the anchor (as Hobbes called the handbrake) and the car had rolled away from its berth. Bertie's relief turned once again into anguish, fretfulness and panic as he realised that the car was careering along the lane, gathering speed as it went. He did the only appropriate thing in the circumstances. He sat down and sobbed, wondering how far from England he might have to move to escape the wrath of Hobbes and myself.

After a few moments, he gathered his senses and set off in pursuit. After a few more moments, he heard a most dreadful sound of impact. Fearing the worst, he continued his pursuit and was soon confronted by a colossal volume of hay that was sat squarely in the middle of the lane. Also sat on the lane was a fellow, who held tight the reins to two giant carthorses. All three creatures appeared bemused (four creatures if you counted Bertie).

Bertie had approached the man and asked what had happened.

'I dunno, but I was sure I was backing out a cart a couple of moments ago ... ' he replied.

It transpired that our vehicle had directly hit the cart and had clean removed it from underneath the hay, which now sat on the lane. Bertie had peered round the mound of dried vegetation hay and seen the car, intact and now stationary, amongst a great quantity of shattered wood. Bertie simply jumped in, started the car and then pootled off!

Bertie was of the opinion that the incident was the fault of the farmer; I asked him how so.

'Well, just imagine... What sort of idiot backs out a haywain onto a country lane without first checking for traffic?' he tutted.

Quashing my urge to throw something heavy at the two of them, I resorted to a bit of good, old fashioned hollering.

'That is just peachy, isn't it?' I said.

'You have been driving round the English countryside in a barely disguised mobile cannon, terrorising the local populace and causing collateral damage to boot! That sounds like the perfect start to a covert operation, doesn't it? Bertie! I hope you have learned a lesson from all this?'

'Quite so, old chap, quite so,' said Bertie quite calmly.

'I have learned to go for a wee before I start on a car journey.'

I was once again flummoxed, but this time added speechlessness to my state.

My anger and angst evaporated.

Hobbes smiled and nudged me forwards.

'Go on. Get up there.'

I took the hand that Bertie now proffered and hauled myself up onto the back of the wagon, with Hobbes close behind.

'Right ho!' said Hobbes clapping his hands.

'Let me show you the changes we've made, yes?'

'Hmm, it seems a lot different to how I remember it.' I said, picking a couple of pieces of trapped hay from the running board.

'Well, of course it is. Apart from the extended nose, it's now got a bigger engine which is tuned for speed and endurance. Young Louis has a bright future ahead of him, I'd say.'

Bertie led me round to the rear and, carefully avoiding upsetting the gun, undid the leather straps that covered the engine compartment and opened it up. Whilst I hadn't had the opportunity to look beneath the original vehicle, I was sure that it would have had more space.

Now the engine seemed to be squeezed into such a tiny volume.

'Isn't it wonderful?' said Bertie and Hobbes, in syncopation and almost in harmony.

I nodded, not entirely sure what to say.

'Louis wanted to redesign it totally and mount the engine in the front.'

'In the front! Where, pray? Whatever was he thinking?' I asked.

Well... Yes... My argument exactly,' said Hobbes.

'But he pointed out that it is the method that the automobile manufacturers were looking to employ. I put him off the idea though, as time was not on our side. Mind you, we did have to extend the front to counter balance the gun and trailer.'

I kicked at a tyre.

'These are fatter than the originals, are they not?'

'Well spotted, Knolly! Extra grip for cross country meandering,' said Bertie.

Then he added, rather sheepishly, that they seemed to hold the line very well when the car had heltered and skeltered sans–conducteur in the episode with the haywain.

I continued around the automobile with Bertie wittering on behind me. I parped the horn, grinned, and climbed aboard. Nothing much seemed to have changed here. I clasped the steering wheel; that felt familiar and comforting – until I looked closer at the dashboard which now contained all manner of switches and additional dials.

'Bertie – what are all these bits and bobs? Surely one doesn't need all this paraphernalia?'

Bertie climbed up beside me.

'Well, let's see now... This big dial tells us how fast... This one is a thermometer to measure the outside temperature.... And this one is a clock.'

'Why do we need to know how fast we are going? No – hold that thought. How fast can it go?'

'Well, that's the fun part really. We don't know! Louis thinks it's capable of about thirty miles per hour, and possibly fifty on a decent surface.'

'Fifty miles per hour!! Good Lord! Surely our skulls would be crushed by the onrushing atmosphere?' I asked.

'Aha!' He said as tapped the window in front of me.

'That's why we put this here, to distort the air flow. Don't have to wear goggles or pressure suits! And look..'

'Fifty miles per hour!!" I repeated – but not as loud this time.

Bertie flicked a switch on the dashboard and, with a mechanical whirring, a canopy unfolded itself from behind us to cover the whole seating area. It alighted on the window with a satisfying click and Bertie deftly fastened it down with hooks and eyes. I shall leave it to you, dear reader, to surmise where he became so adept at such fastenings...

Now this was impressive! Speed and shelter from the elements. That would prove useful in the Highlands.

'Hobbes copied the idea from a perambulator. It's run by clockwork at the moment, but we don't have to wind it up as the engine does that for us.'

I tapped at the covering.

'Will it stay up at speed?'

Bertie was taken aback.

'Um... Well... Possibly... But I've got all the warm weather togs too... Oh, and this is the 'piece de resistance' ....'

He turned a knurled knob on the fascia in front of him and a tinny warbling sound emanated from somewhere in front of us. I strained to catch the tune. It was a syncopated ragtime melody and quite got the feet tapping, but I could not name it.

'It's a favourite of Louis'. He had it playing in the workshop, it's by some American chap called Joplin. '
Swipsey Cakewalk', I think it's called.'

We three sat in the car, performing our seated tap–dancing to this merry tune and taking turns at rambling whistling. The music was obviously much louder outside and a small group of naval engineers had started to gather around the wagon, and were dancing and jigging along. The merriment was quickly dispersed by an irritated Meeds.

'When you've quite finished gentlemen, can we get this contraption and the luggage loaded do you think?' He barked.

Bertie unfastened a side panel on the canopy and proceeded to furl it around like a tent flap. He motioned me to do the same on my side. The music indeed was much louder outside.

Bertie grinned.

'Well, your suggestion was for a contraption to be used at picnics and suchlike, so you would want external music as well, wouldn't you?'

I leaned over and turned the knob. The music died.

'Whilst I thank you, and Louis of course, for attending to my request, I trust that there is a way of keeping such sounds inside the vehicle, rather than announcing our approach to all and sundry?'

Bertie and Hobbes looked at each other and then back at me.

'We'll, errrr, make that adjustment.' They said together, only this time in perfect harmony...

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