Chapter XThe bus went creaking and clanking on its way. It was quite full, and it smelt very strongly of fog, petrol and wet umbrellas. Charles sat opposite the man with the muffler and looked at him curiously. He had a square, fresh face and very blue eyes; he had the look of a man who has followed the sea. Forty had been with Mr Standing on his yacht. But Forty was deaf, and this man wasn’t deaf.
Just on the impulse Charles leaned across and addressed him.
‘Bad fog—isn’t it? I’m glad I’m not at sea.’
The man looked at Charles after a pleasant puzzled fashion and shook his head.
‘Sorry, sir, but I’m deaf.’
Charles raised his voice:
‘I only said it was a bad fog.’
He shook his head again and smiled deprecatingly.
‘It’s no good, sir. Hill 60 going up was the last thing I heard.’
Th
