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      Contrary to my expectation, my brother-in-law, if unusually silent, was driving well. But the road was against him. He had not sufficient experience to be able to keep his foot steady upon the accelerator when a high speed and a rude surface conspired to dislodge it—a shortcoming which caused us all three much discomfort and lost a lot of mileage. Then, again, I dared not let him drive too close to the side of the road. Right at the edge the surface was well preserved, and I knew that Jonah's off wheels would make good use of it. Such finesse, however, was out of Berry's reach. We pelted along upon what remained of the crown painfully.

      Seventy-three miles separate Bordeaux from Angoulême, and at the end of two hours fifty-four of them lay behind us. All things considered, this was extremely good, and when Adèle suggested that we should eat our lunch, I agreed quite cheerfully.

      The suggestion, however, that I should feed Berry proved impracticable.

      After four endeavours to introduce one end of a petit pain into his mouth—

      "Would it be asking too much," said my brother-in-law, "if I suggested that you should suspend this assault? I don't know what part of your face you eat with, but I usually use my mouth. I admit it's a bit of a rosebud, but that's no excuse for all these 'outers.' Yes, I know it's a scream, but I was once told never to put foie gras upon the nose or cheeks. They say it draws the skin. Oh, and don't let's have any comic nonsense about the beer," he added shortly. "Pour it straight into my breast-pocket and have done with it. Then I can suck my handkerchief."

      As he spoke, Nobby leaned forward and took the dishevelled sandwich out of my unready fingers.

      "That's right," added Berry, with the laugh of a maniac. "Cast my portion to the dogs." He dabbed his face with a handkerchief. "Never mind. When his hour comes, you'll have to hold him out of the window. I'm not going to stop every time he wants to be sick."

      Eventually it was decided that, since we should have to stop for petrol, Berry must seize that opportunity to devour some food.

      "Besides," I concluded, "a rest of a quarter of an hour will do you good."

      As the words left my mouth, I noticed for the first time that my brother-in-law was tiring.

      For the moment I thought I was mistaken, for upon our previous runs he had never turned a hair. Now, however, he seemed to be driving with an effort. As if to confirm my suspicions, at the very next hill he missed his change.

      "I think," I said quickly, "you ought to have your lunch right away.

       It's no good getting done in for want of food."

      Berry shot me a pathetic glance.

      "It isn't that, old chap. It's—— Hang it all, it's my shoulder!

       That cursed muscular rheumatism cropped up again yesterday. … "

      The murder was out.

      After a little he admitted that, ever since we had left Poitiers, any quick movement of his left arm had caused him intense pain.

      Of course both Adèle and I besought him to stop there and then and let the race go to blazes. Of this he would not hear, declaring that, so long as Jonah was behind, victory was not out of sight, and that nothing short of paralysis would induce him to jilt the jade. After a little argument, we let him have his way …

      The road continued to offer an abominable passage, and when we stopped at a garage in Bordeaux, it was five minutes to three of a beautiful afternoon.

      The third bidon was discharging its contents into Pong's tank, and Berry was sitting wearily upon the running-board, with his mouth full and a glass of beer in his hand, when, with an apologetic cough, Ping emerged from behind an approaching tram and slid past us over the cobbles with a smooth rush. The off-side window was open, and, as the car went by, Jonah waved to us.

      There was no doubt about it, my cousin was out to win. It was also transparently clear that Adèle and I, at any rate, had lost our money. We could not compete with an average of thirty-six miles an hour.

      "Boy!"

      "Yes, darling?"

      "Is that the last bidon?"

      "Yes. But Berry won't have finished for at least ten minutes.

       Besides——"

      "Couldn't I drive for a bit, just till he's finished his lunch?"

      I stared at my wife. Then—

      "I don't see why you shouldn't, dear, except that the streets of

       Bordeaux are rather rough on a beginner."

      "I'll be very careful," pleaded Adèle, "and—and, after all, we shall be moving. And it can't affect the bets. Nothing was said about Berry having to drive."

      I smiled ruefully.

      "As far as the bets are concerned, we might as well stay here the night. We've got a hundred and fifty miles in front of us, and seven hours—five of them after dark—to do them in. Berry's shoulder has put the lid on. We shan't get in before midnight."

      "You never know," said Adèle.

      Berry suspended the process of mastication to put his oar in.

      "Let her drive," he said huskily. "One thing's certain. She can't do any worse than I have."

      "You never know," said Adèle.

      A minute later she was in the driver's seat, and I had folded the rug and placed it behind her back.

      As Berry took his seat—

      "That's right," I said. "Now let in the clutch gently. … Well done. Change. … Good girl! Now, I shouldn't try to pass this lorry until——"

      "I think you would," said Adèle, changing into third, and darting in front of the monster.

      "Good Heavens!" I cried. Then: "Look out for that tram, lady. You'd better … "

      As the tram was left standing, I caught my brother-in-law by the arm.

      "She can drive!" I said stupidly.

      "Nonsense," said Berry, "I'm willing her."

      "You fool!" I shouted, shaking him. "I tell you she can drive!" We flashed between two waggons. "Look at that! She's a first-class driver, and she's going to save your stake!"

      "What's really worrying me," said Adèle, "is how we're to pass Jonah without him seeing us."

      There was an electric silence. Then—

      "For-rard!" yelled Berry. "For-r-a-r-d! Out of the way, fat face, or we'll take the coat off your back." A portly Frenchman leaped into safety with a scream. "That's the style. For-rard! Fill the fife, dear heart, fill the blinkin' fife; there's a cyciclist on the horizon. For-rard!"

      To sound the horn would have been a work of supererogation. СКАЧАТЬ