Explore "The Case for the Crown" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Archenfield, with his faithful companion, pushed his way presently across the lonely sands in the direction of Oxley. There was no moon, but it was not a dark night, though the sky was slightly overcast with a thin veil of summer cloud, and there was just a suspicion of rain in the air. They came presently to the barren, low lying land beyond the tideway, and in the course of time to the broad coast road that linked Oxley up with the great port of Lyddmouth and its contiguous seaside towns, given over, for the most part, to coal-mining and kindred industries. Here Archenfield, who knew every inch of the way, turned abruptly to the right, and so they went onward until presently they could hear a clock in some distant church spire strike eleven. And then, for the first time, they came in contact with something moving.
A quarter of a mile or so down the road a big waggon with a tail-light on it lumbered along slowly. In front of it was another, and yet another, until the adventurers found themselves passing a score of gaudily-painted cars each bearing some strident letter on its side. The cars wheeled off the road on to a large patch of open grass, and there pulled up.