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“Shall I massage it?” said Berry. The suggestion was loudly condemned.

“Right,” replied my brother-in-law. “That reduces us to faith-healing. On the command ‘One,’ make your mind a blank—that shouldn’t be difficult—realise that the agony you aren’t suffering is imaginary, and close both legs. One! On the command ‘Two’——”

“You can go,” I said wearily. “You can go. I’ll write to you when I want you. Don’t bother to leave your address.”

“But how vulgar,” said Berry. “How very vulgar.” He paused to glance at his watch. “Dear me! Half-past ten, and I haven’t had my beer yet.” He stepped to the door. “Should the pain become excruciating, turn upon the stomach and repeat Kipling’s ‘If.’ Should——”

My sister and Jill fairly bundled him out of the doorway.

Sitting by my side upon the bed, Adele laid her cheek against mine.

“Is it any better, old chap?”

“The pain’s practically stopped,” said I, “thank Heaven. Putting it up’s done that. But I’m in for a stiff leg, dear. I know that. Not that that matters really, but it means I can’t drive.”

It was unfortunate that, before I had been upon French soil for half an hour, I should be kicked by a testy cab-horse of whose existence—much less proximity—thanks to the poor lighting of Boulogne, I had been totally unaware. I had been kicked upon the same knee in 1916. On that occasion I had gone with a stiff leg for a fortnight. It seemed unpleasantly probable that history would wholly repeat itself.

“I can travel,” I continued. “I shall be able to walk with a stick, but I shan’t be able to drive. And, as Jonah can’t drive more than one car at a time, Berry’ll have to take the other.”

At my words Daphne started, and Jill gave a little cry.

“B-but, Boy, he’s only had three lessons.”

“I know, but he’ll get through somehow. I’ll sit by his side. It’ll shorten my life, of course, but what else can we do? Even if Fitch was here, there’s no room for a chauffeur. And you’d find towing tedious after the first five hundred miles.”

With a white forefinger to her lips, my sister regarded me.

“I know he’s a disgrace,” she said slowly, “but he’s—he’s the only husband I’ve got, Boy, and—he has his points,” she concluded softly with the tenderest smile.

I stretched out a hand and drew her towards me.

“Isn’t he my only brother, darling? Isn’t he—Berry? I’ll see he comes to no harm.”

“You really think it’s safe?”

“Perfectly. For one thing, I shall be able to reach the hand-brake rather more easily than he will....”

My sister kissed me.

“I like the sound of that,” she said cheerfully.

It was the fifth day of November, and all six of us were for the Pyrenees.

A month ago Adele and I, new-wed, had visited Pau. We had found the place good, conceived the idea of spending the winter there, and wired for instructions. Within three days we had received four letters.

The first was from Jill.

ADELE DARLING,

How sweet of you both to think of it! We’re all simply thrilled. Try and get one with a palm-tree and some wistaria. We miss you awfully. Tell Boy Nobby is splendid and sends his love. Oh, and he smells his coat every day. Isn’t it pathetic P My hair won’t go like yours, but I’m going to try again. All our love to you and your HUSBAND,

JILL.

Then came Jonah’s.

DEAR BOY,

What about tobacco? You might examine the chances of smuggling. I’m sending you a hundred cigarettes conspicuously labelled BENGER’S FOOD, to see what happens. I suppose the roads are pretty bad. What about fishing?

Yours,

JONAH.

(I subsequently received a curt communication to the effect that there was a package, addressed to me and purporting to contain “Farine,” lying at the local custom-house. Adele was horrified. I endeavoured to reassure her, tore up the notice, and cursed my cousin savagely. When three days had passed, and I was still at liberty, Adele plucked up heart, but, for the rest of our visit, upon sight of a gendarme she was apt to become distrait and lose the thread of her discourse.)

A letter from Daphne had arrived the next day.

DEAREST ADELE,

We’re all delighted with the idea.

I don’t think six months would be too long. I agree that a villa would be much the best, and we’re perfectly content to leave the selection to you. You know what room we must have. I suppose two bathrooms would be too much to expect. About servants: we can bring some, but I think we ought to have a French cook to do the marketing, and perhaps one other to keep her company and help in the kitchen and house. Will you see what you can do? Plate and linen, of course, we can bring. By the way, Madge Willoughby tells me that last year in France they had some difficulty about coal; so tell Boy to see if he can order some now. All this, of course, if you can get a villa.

Your loving sister,

DAPHNE.

Berry’s came last.

DEAR BROTHER,

So we shall ourselves winter this year at Pau? Eh bien! There are, perhaps, worse places. At least, the sun will shine. Ma foi, to think that upon you depend all the arrangements. Tant pis! My suite must face itself south and adjoin the bathroom. Otherwise I cannot answer for my health, or, for the matter of that, yours either.

Kindly omit from your next letter any reference to the mountains. “Impressions of the Pyrenees” by a fool who has been married for less than three weeks not only are valueless, but make my gorge rise—une elevation tres dangereuse.

Which brings me to your wife. How is the shrew? Tell her I have some socks for her to darn on her return.

It was thoughtful of you to emphasise the fact that the season of green figs, to a surfeit of which I sincerely hope you will succumb, will be over before I reach Pau. I am inclined to think that the five hundred cigars George sent you will be over even earlier. Besides, I shall at once console and distend myself with foie gras.

We must have a French cook, of course—a very priestess of Gluttony—skilful to lure the timid appetite from the fastness of satiety. Enfin....

I ask myself why I shall have made the trouble to write to you. You have, of course, an opportunity unique of making a mess with a copper bottom of my life for six months. Mais, mon Dieu, que vous serez puni!

Je t’embrasse, vieil haricot, sur les deux joues.

BERRY

P.S.—This here letter is a talisman, and should be worn upon the exterior of the abdominal wall during a drought.

Considering the nature of our holiday, Adele and I did not do so badly. Before we left Pau, I had signed the lease of an attractive villa, standing well in its own grounds and commanding a prospect of the mountains as fine as could be. Adele had engaged a Frenchwoman and her daughter, both of whom were well spoken of, and had been in the service of English and American families before the War. A supply of fuel had been reserved and various minor arrangements had been concluded. Ere we were back at White Ladies, October was old.

It had been Jonah’s belated suggestion that our migration should be accomplished by car. It was Jonah’s enterprise that reduced the upheaval of our plans, consequent upon the instant adoption of his idea, to order and convenience. By the third of November everything had been arranged. The heavier stuff had been embarked for Bordeaux; the servants were ready to accompany the rest of the luggage by way of Paris; the Rolls had been sold. In the latter’s place we had purchased two smaller cars—both new, both of the same make, both coupes, both painted blue. Indeed, but for their numbers, which were consecutive, we could not have told them apart. Each seated three inside—comfortably, while a respectable quantity of baggage could be easily bestowed in each of the capacious boots.

Certainly my cousin’s staff work had been superb.

In the circumstances it seemed hardly fair that upon this, the first night of our venture, he should be faced with the labour of shepherding both cars, single-handed, first clear of the Customs, and then, one by one, through the cold, dark streets which led from the quay to the garage of the hotel.

As if she had read my thought—

“Poor Jonah!” said Adele suddenly. “I wonder——”

A knock upon the door interrupted her.

This, being opened, admitted Nobby, two porters, our luggage, two waiters, a large dish of sandwiches, some beer, coffee and its accessories, Jonah, and finally Berry.

“You must be tired,” said the latter. “Let’s sit down, shall I?” He sank into a chair. “And how’s the comic patella? I well remember, when I was in Plumbago, a somewhat similar accident. A large cherry-coloured gibus, on its wrong side——”

“At the present moment,” said I, wrestling with the Sealyham’s advances, “we’re more concerned with your future than with your past. It’s the Bank of England to a ha’p’orth of figs that to-morrow morning I shall have a stiff leg. Very good.” I paused. “Those three lessons you’ve had,” I added carelessly, “will come in useful.”

Jonah, who was filling a tumbler, started violently and spilled some beer. Then he leaned against the wall and began to laugh helplessly.

Coldly Berry regarded him.

“I fail,” he said stiffly, “to see the point of your mirth. I gather that it is proposed to enjoy my services for the propulsion of one of the automobiles—that, while you will be responsible for the ‘shoving’ of Ping, these delicate hands will flick Pong across France. Very good. Let the Press be informed; call forth the ballad-mongers. What would have been a somewhat sordid drive will become a winged flight, sublime and deathless.”

“I trust so,” said Jonah. “Six hundred miles with a fool at the wheel is a tall order, but, if your companions survive the first two days, they ought to pull through. Try not to do more than five pounds’ worth of damage to the gallon, won’t you?”

“Sour grapes,” said Berry. “The professional reviles the distinguished amateur.”

“Seriously,” said I, “it’s no laughing matter.”

“I agree,” said Daphne. “You’ll have to just crawl along all the way. After all, we’ve got six months to get there in. Promise me you won’t try and pass anything.”

“I promise,” replied her husband. “Should another vehicle approach, I’ll stop the engine and go and hide in a wood till it’s gone.”

“Fool,” said his wife. “I meant ‘overtake anything’ of course. You know I did. Promise you won’t try and rush past things just to get in front of them.”

I took up the cudgels.

“We’ve got to get along, darling, and he can’t give a promise like that. You wouldn’t want to do fifty miles behind a traction-engine, would you? Remember, I shall be by his side. He may be holding the wheel, but I shall be driving the car. Make him promise to obey me implicitly, if you like.”

“That’s right,” said Jill. “You will, won’t you, Berry?”

The latter looked at Adele.

“Do you also subscribe to my humiliation?” he said.

Adele smiled and nodded.

“Unquestionably,” she said. “By the time you get to Pau, you’ll be an expert. And then you can teach me.”

“The pill-gilder,” said my brother-in-law. “Well, well. So far as in me lies, I’ll do as I’m told. But I insist upon plain English. I’m not going to be suddenly yelled at to ‘double-clutch,’ or ‘feel the brake,’ or ‘close the throttle,’ or something. It makes me want to burst into tears. That fellow who was teaching me asked me, without any warning and in the middle of some sheep, what I should do if one of my ‘big ends were to run out.’ I said I should consult a specialist, but the question upset me. Indirectly, it also upset the shepherd.... Which reminds me, I never knew a human being could jump so far. The moment he felt the radiator....”

“You never told us this,” said Daphne reproachfully. “If I’d known you’d knocked somebody down——”

“I never knocked him down,” said Berry. “I tell you he jumped.... We stopped, of course, and explained. He was a little nettled at first, but we parted on the best of terms.”

“It’s all very well,” said my sister, “but I’d no idea——”

“Every dog must have his bite,” said I, laughing. “He won’t do it again. And now, since I’m tethered, will somebody give me some beer?”

Then and there supper was consumed.

A vigorous discussion of the turn events had taken, and the advancement and scrutiny of a variety of high speculations regarding the probable style of our progress to Pau, prevailed until past twelve o’clock, but at length the others were evicted, and Adele, Nobby, and I were able to prepare for the night.

Out of the luxurious silence of a hot bath Adele’s voice came floating into the bedroom.

“Boy!”

“Yes, lady?”

“I wish I was going with you to-morrow instead of Daphne.”

“So do I,” I said heartily.

Adele sighed. Then—

“It can’t be helped,” she said. “I think, on the whole, she would have worried more than I shall.”

“Not a doubt of it,” said I cheerfully. “As she said, Berry’s the only husband she’s got.”

Adele choked. Presently—

“The real reason,” she said, “is because she mistrusts her husband even more than I trust mine.”

When I had worked this out—

“Aha,” I said pleasedly.

“But then, of course,” said Adele, “she’s been married much longer.”

With Rouen as our objective, we left Boulogne the next morning at ten o’clock. To speak more accurately, we left the hotel at ten o’clock and Boulogne itself some forty minutes later. The negotiation of an up-gradient leading out of the town was responsible for the delay.

My sister and I shall remember that hill so long as we live. So, I imagine, will Berry. We were half-way up when he stopped the engine for the first time. We were still half-way up when he stopped it for the eighth time. Indeed, it was at this juncture that I suggested that he should rest from his labours and smoke a cigarette.

My brother-in-law shook his head.

“Shall I slide down backwards and begin again?” he inquired.

“No, thanks,” said I. “I have a foolish preference for facing death.”

“D’you think we could push it up?” said Daphne.

“Frankly,” said I, “I don’t. You see, she weighs over a ton without the luggage.”

Berry cleared his throat.

“I am not,” he said, “going through the farce of asking what I do wrong, because I know the answer. It’s not the right one, but you seem incapable of giving any other.”

“I am,” said I.

“Well, don’t say it,” said Berry, “because, if you do, I shall scream. No man born of woman could let in that clutch more slowly, and yet you say it’s too fast. The truth is, there’s something wrong with the car.”

“There soon will be,” I retorted. “The starter will fail. Then every time you stop the engine you’ll have to get out and crank. That’ll make you think.”

“ ‘Make me think’?” yelled Berry. “D’you think I haven’t been thinking? D’you think I’m not thinking now? Haven’t I almost burst my brains with thinking?” Daphne began to laugh helplessly. “That’s right,” added her husband savagely. “See the humorous side. I may go mad any minute, but don’t let that stop you.” And, with that, he set his foot upon the self-starter.

When he had stopped the engine another three times, he applied the hand-brake with unnecessary violence, sank back in his seat, and folded his hands.

My sister and I clung to one another in an agony of stifled mirth.

Berry closed his eyes.

“My work,” he said quietly, “is over. I now see that it is ordained that we shall not leave this spot. There’s probably an angel in the way with a drawn sword, and the car sees it, although we can’t. Any way, I’m not going to fight against Fate. And now don’t speak to me. I’m going to dwell on bullock-carts and goat-chaises and other horse-drawn vehicles. I shan’t last many minutes, and I should like to die in peace.”

With a swift rush, Ping drew up alongside. From its interior Adele, Jill, Nobby and Jonah peered at us excitedly.

“Hullo!” said the latter. “What’s up?”

“Go away,” said Berry. “Drive on to your doom. An apparition has appeared to us, warning us not to proceed. It was quite definite about it. Good-bye.”

“Jonah, old chap,” said I, “I’m afraid you’re for it. Unless you take us up, we shall be here till nightfall.”

With a groan my cousin opened his door and descended into the road....

One minute later we were at the top of the hill.

“And now,” said Daphne, with the Michelin Guide open upon her knees, “now for Montreuil.”

When five minutes had passed and my brother-in-law was breathing through his nose less audibly, I lighted a cigarette and ventured to look about me.

It was certainly a fine highway that we were using. Broad, direct, smooth beyond all expectation, it lay like a clean-cut sash upon the countryside, rippling away into the distance as though it were indeed that long, long lane that hath no turning. Presently a curve would come to save the face of the proverb, but the bends were few in number, and, as a general rule, did little more than switch the road a point or two to east or west, as, the mood took them. There was little traffic, and the surface was dry.

Something had been said about the two cars keeping together, but I was not surprised when Jonah passed us like a whirlwind before we were half-way to Samer. He explained afterwards that he had stuck it as long as he could, but that to hold a car down to twenty on a road like a private racing-track was worse than “pulling.”

Fired by Jonah’s example, Berry laid hold of the wheel, and we took the next hill at twenty-five.

It was a brilliant day, but the cold was intense, and I think we were all glad that Pong was a closeable car. That Winter’s reign had begun was most apparent. There was a bleak look upon the country’s face: birch-rods that had been poplars made us gaunt avenues: here and there the cold jewellery of frost was sparkling. I fell to wondering how far south we must go to find it warmer.

Presently we came to Montreuil.

As we entered the little town—

“This,” said I, “was the headquarters of the British Expeditionary Force. From behind these walls——”

“Don’t talk,” said Daphne, “or I shall make a mistake. Round to the left here. Wait a minute. No, that’s right. And straight on. What a blessing this Michelin Guide is! Not too fast, Berry. Straight on. This ought to be Grande Rue.” She peered out of the window. “Yes, that’s right. Now, in a minute you turn to the left....”

After all, I reflected, we had to get to Rouen, and it was past mid-day.

We had sworn not to lunch before we had passed Abbeville, so, since we had breakfasted betimes, I furtively encouraged my brother-in-law to “put her along.” His response was to overtake and pass a lorry upon the wrong side, drive an unsuspecting bicyclist into a ditch and swerve, like a drunken sea-gull, to avoid a dead fowl. As we were going over forty it was all over before we knew where we were, but the impression of impending death was vivid and lasting, and nearly a minute had elapsed before I could trust my voice.

“Are we still alive?” breathed Daphne. “I’m afraid to open my eyes.”

“I think we must be,” said I. “At least, I’m still thirsty, if that’s anything to go by.”

“I consider,” said Berry, “that the way in which I extricated us from that impasse was little short of masterly. That cyclist ought to remember me in his prayers.”

“I don’t want to discourage you,” I said grimly, “but I shouldn’t bank on it.”

The plan of Abbeville, printed in the Guide, was as simple to read as were my sister’s directions to follow. At a critical moment, however, Berry felt unable to turn to the right.

“The trouble is,” he explained, as we plunged into a maze of back streets, “I’ve only got two hands and feet. To have got round that corner, I should have had to take out the clutch, go into third, release the brake, put out a hand, accelerate, sound the clarion and put the wheel over simultaneously. Now, with seven limbs I could have done it. With eight, I could also have scratched myself—an operation, I may say, which can be no longer postponed.” He drew up before a charcuterie and mopped his face. “What a beautiful bunch of sausages!” he added. “Shall we get some? Or d’you think they’d be dead before we get to Rouen?”

In contemptuous silence Daphne lowered her window, accosted the first passer-by, and asked the way. An admission that it was possible to reach the Neufchatel road without actually retracing our steps was at length extracted, and, after a prolonged study of the plan, my sister gave the word to proceed. Save that we twice mounted the pavement, grazed a waggon, and literally brushed an urchin out of the way, our emergence from Abbeville was accomplished without further incident.

With the knowledge that, barring accidents, we ought to reach Rouen by half-past five, we ventured to devour a wayside lunch some ten minutes later.

It was after Neufchatel that the surface of the great grey road argued neglect in no uncertain terms. For mile after mile, fat bulls of Basan, in the shape of gigantic pot-holes, gaped threateningly upon us. Berry, who was driving much better, did all that he could, but only a trick-cyclist could have picked his way between them. The car hiccoughed along piteously....

With the approach of darkness, driving became a burden, being driven a weariness of the flesh, and we were all thankful when we slid down a paved hill into the Cathedral City and, presently, past the great church and on to the very bank of the River Seine.

The others had been awaiting us for nearly two hours.

“With this sun,” said Adele, “they ought to be glorious.”

Impiously I reflected that Berry was almost certainly enjoying his breakfast in bed.

“I expect they will,” I said abstractedly.

Adele slid an arm through mine.

“It’s very sweet of you to come with me, Boy.”

I stood still and looked at her.

“You’re a wonderful child,” I said. “When you speak like that, I want to kick myself and burst into song simultaneously. I suppose that’s Love.”

“I expect so,” said Adele mischievously.

Five minutes later we were standing beneath the shadow of Chartres Cathedral.

We had come, my wife and I, to see the windows. The day before had been dull, and what light there was had been failing when we had visited the shrine. To-day, however, was all glorious.

If we had risen early, we had our reward.

The place had become a gallery with jewels for pictures. Out of the sombre depths the aged webs of magic glowed with the matchless flush of precious stones. From every side colours we had not dreamed of enriched our eyes. To make the great west rose, the world herself might have been spoiled of her gems. Looking upon this mystery, no man can wonder that the art is lost. Clearly it went the way of Babel. For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. Windows the sun was lighting were at once more real and more magnificent. Crimsons and blues, purples and greens, yellows and violets, blazed with that ancient majesty which only lives to-day in the peal of a great organ, the call of a silver trumpet, or the proud roll of drums. Out of the gorgeous pageant mote-ridden rays issued like messengers, to badge the cold grey stone with tender images and set a smile upon the face of stateliness. “Such old, old panes,” says someone. “Six hundred years and more. How wonderful!” Pardon me, but I have seen them, and it is not wonderful at all. Beneath their spell, centuries shrink to afternoons. The windows of Chartres are above Time. They are the peepholes of Immortality.

We returned to the hotel in time to contribute to a heated argument upon the subject of tipping.

“It’s perfectly simple,” said Berry. “You think of what you would hate to have given before the War, double it, add forty per cent. for the increased cost of living, halve it because of the Exchange, ask them whether they’d like it in notes or gold, and pay them in postage-stamps.”

“I want to know,” said Daphne, “what to give the chambermaid.”

“Eight francs fifty. That’s the equivalent of half-a-crown before the War.”

“Nonsense,” said his wife. “Five francs is heaps, and you know it.”

“I think it’s too much,” said Berry. “Give her one instead, and tell her you’ve hidden the rest in the bathroom and that, when she touches the towel-rail, she’s warm.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Jill uneasily, “it’s all over. I’ve done it.”

There was a dreadful silence. Then—

“Tell us the worst,” said I, “and get it over.”

“I’m—I’m afraid I gave her rather a lot, but she had a nice face.”

“She had a nice step,” said Berry. “I noticed that about five this morning.”

“How much?” said I relentlessly.

Jill looked round guiltily.

“I gave her fifty,” she said.

There was a shriek of laughter.

“Did she faint?” said Berry. “Or try to eat grass, or anything?”

Gravely Jill shook her head.

“She talked a great deal—very fast. I couldn’t follow her. And then she turned away and began to cry. I was so glad I’d done it.”

“So are we all,” said Daphne.

She was supported heartily.

Jonah looked at his watch.

“I suggest,” he said, “that we start at eleven, then we shall fetch up in time to see the cathedral.”

“How far is Tours?” said Daphne.

“Eighty-six miles.”

“Let’s keep together to-day,” said Jill. “It’s much more fun.”

Her brother shook his head.

“I don’t want,” he said, “to be arrested for loitering.”

“Don’t you worry,” said Berry. “We wouldn’t be seen with you.”

Jonah sighed.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” he murmured.

“More,” said Berry. “We regard you rather less than the dust beneath our detachable wheels. You pollute the road with your hoghood. I suppose it’s no use asking you to keep behind us.”

“None whatever,” replied our cousin. “Why should we?”

“Well,” said Berry, “supposing a tire discovers that I’m driving and bursts with pride, who’s going to change the wheel?”

Jonah stifled a yawn.

“You can’t have it both ways,” he said. “If we’re to warn people not to shoot at you, we must be in front.”

Berry regarded his finger-nails.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Think of me when you get your third puncture, won’t you? And remember that my heart goes out to you in your tire trouble and that you have all my love. Then you won’t sweat so much.”

Half an hour later Pong stormed out of the garage and into the Place des Epars.

Adele’s wish had been granted, and she was travelling with Berry and me instead of with Jonah.

For this new order of battle Nobby was solely responsible. Upon the first day’s journey the terrier had whined all the way to Rouen because he had wanted to be with me. As one of his audience, Jonah had been offensively outspoken regarding this predilection. Upon the following day the dog’s desire had been gratified, whereupon he had whined all the way to Chartres because he was apart from Adele. Commenting upon this unsuspected devotion, Berry had been quite as outspoken as Jonah, and much more offensive. Naturally, to withstand such importunity was out of the question, and, since it was impossible for me to leave Berry, the line of least resistance was followed, and Daphne and Adele changed places.

Our way out of Chartres was short and simple, and, with the exception of temporarily obstructing two trams by the artless expedient of remaining motionless upon the permanent way, Pong emerged from the city without a stain upon his character.

The Vendome road looked promising and proved excellent. Very soon we were flying. For all that, Jonah overtook us as we were nearing Bonneval....

It was some thirty minutes later, as we were leaving Chateaudun, that a sour-faced gendarme with a blue nose motioned to us to stop. Standing upon the near pavement, the fellow was at once conversing with a postman and looking malevolently in our direction. I think we all scented mischief.

“What can he want?” growled Berry, as he brought the car to a standstill.

“He’s probably being officious,” said I, getting our papers ready. “We’re strangers, and he’s in a bad humour. Consequently, he’s going to scrutinise our triptyque, passports, passes and certificates, to see if he can accuse us of anything. Happily they’re all in order, so he’ll be disappointed. When he’s thoroughly satisfied that he can bring no charge against us, he’ll order us to proceed.”

“He’s taking his time about it,” observed my brother-in-law.

I looked up from the documents.

My gentleman was still talking to the postman, while his pig’s eyes were still surveying the car. From his companion’s demeanour, he seemed to be whetting his wit at our expense.

“This is intolerable,” said I. “Ask him what he wants, lady.”

Adele leaned forward and put her head out of the window.

“I think you wished us to stop, Monsieur?”

The gendarme waved his hand.

“Wait,” he said insolently.

The postman sniggered shamefacedly.

Adele sank back in her seat, her cheeks flaming.

In a voice trembling with passion I conjured Berry to proceed.

The moment the car moved, the official sprang forward, gesticulating furiously.

As we passed him, I put out my head.

“Now it’s our turn,” I said warmly, “to make the postman laugh.”

From the hoarse yells which followed us, it was clear that we had left the fellow beside himself with rage. Looking back through the little window, I could see him dancing. Suddenly he stopped, peered after us, and then swung about and ran ridiculously up the street.

“Blast him, he’s going to telephone!” said I. “Where’s the map?”

Together Adele and I pored over the sections.

“If,” said Berry, “you’re going to direct me to turn off, for Heaven’s sake be quick about it. At the present moment I’m just blinding along into the blue and, for all I know, an oversized hornets’ nest. Of course they mayn’t sting when there’s an ‘r’ in the month, but then they mightn’t know that. Or am I thinking of oysters?”

“They’ll stop us at Vendome,” said I. “Not before. Right oh! We must turn to the right at Cloyes and make for St. Calais. We can get round to Tours that way. It’ll take us about twenty miles out of our way, but——”

“Yes, and when we don’t show up at Vendome, they’ll wire to Calais. Seriously, as Shakespeare says, I’m all of a doo-dah.”

That we should be stopped at St. Calais was not likely, and I said as much. What did worry me, because it was far more probable, was that when they drew blank at Vendome, the authorities would telephone to Tours. Any apprehension, however, regarding our reception at that city was soon mercifully, unmercifully, and somewhat paradoxically overshadowed by a more instant anxiety lest we should never arrive there at all. From the moment we left the main road, the obstacles in the shape of uncharted roads and villages, pavements, cattle, goats, a horse fair, and finally a series of appalling gradients, opposed our passage. All things considered, my brother-in-law drove admirably. But it was a bad business, and, while my wife and Berry were very staunch, I think we all regretted that I had been so high with Blue Nose.

Night had fallen ere we slunk into Tours.

Fully expecting to find that the others had well-nigh given us up, we were astounded to learn at the hotel that Ping had not yet arrived. Indeed, we had finished dinner, and were debating seriously whether we should take a hired car and go to seek them, when there was a flurry of steps in the corridor, Nobby rushed to the door, and the next moment Daphne and Jill burst into the room.

“My darling,” said Berry, advancing, “where on earth have you been?”

My sister put her arms about his neck and looked into his eyes.

“Kiss me ‘Good-bye,’ ” she said. “Jonah’s just coming.”

Her husband stared at her. Then—

“Is it as bad as all that?” he said. “Dear, dear. And how did he get the booze?”

Somebody cleared his throat.

I swung round, to see Jonah regarding us.

“You three beauties,” he said. “Four with Nobby.”

“But what do you mean?” said Adele. “What have we done?”

“Done?” cried Jonah. “Done? Where d’you think we’ve been?”

“It can’t have been goats that stopped you,” said Berry, “because I had all the goats. There was a great rally of goats at St. Calais this afternoon. It was a wonderful smell—I mean sight.”

“Guess again,” said Jonah grimly.

“You haven’t been waiting for us on the road?” said I.

“You’re getting warmer,” was the reply.

Adele gave a sudden cry.

“O-o-oh, Jonah,” she gasped, “you’ve been at Vendome!”

I started violently, and Berry, who was about to speak, choked.

“That’s right,” said Jonah shortly. “Nice little place—what I saw of it.... Lovely view from the police-station.” He leaned against the mantelpiece and lighted a cigarette. “It may amuse you to know,” he added, “that the expiation of your crime took us six and a half hours and cost five hundred francs.”

In response to our thirsty enquiries, the tale came bubbling.

My surmise that the blue-nosed gendarme would telephone to Vendome had been well-founded. He had forwarded an exact description of Pong, together with the letters and the first three figures of the four appearing upon the number-plate. Six minutes later Ping had sailed innocently into Vendome—and up to her doom....

The Vendome police could hardly believe their eyes. Here was the offending car, corresponding in every particular to the one described to them, admittedly fresh from Chateaudun, yet having covered the thirty-nine kilometres in eleven minutes. It was amazing ... almost incredible ... almost.... Of outlaws, however, all things were credible—even a speed of one hundred and thirty-six miles an hour. For it was without doubt that outlaw which had flouted Authority at Chateaudun. Oh, indubitably. And, having thus flouted Authority, what was more natural than that it should endeavour to outstrip the consequences of its deed? But, mon Dieu, what wickedness!

In vain had Jonah protested and Daphne declared their innocence. The telephone was again requisitioned, and the blue-nosed gendarme summoned and cross-examined. As luck would have it, he could not speak to the passengers, beyond affirming that they included one man and one woman.... When he gratuitously added that the reason why he could not swear to the whole of the number was because of the terrible pace at which the car was moving, the game was up....

Finding that the accusation of travelling at a horrifying speed was assuming a serious look, my sister and cousins at length decided that they had no alternative but to give us away. They had, of course, realised that Pong was implicated from the beginning. Consequently, with the flourish of one who has hit upon the solution of a problem, they divulged our existence. They were politely, but wholly disbelieved. In reply, they had politely, but confidently, invited the police to wait and see....

For over four hours they had anxiously awaited the arrival of Pong. When at last the humiliating truth began to dawn upon them, and it became evident that we had ruled Vendome out of our itinerary, the shock of realising, not only that they were to be denied an opportunity of refuting the charges preferred, but that they were destined to leave the town branded as three of the biggest and most unsuccessful liars ever encountered, had well-nigh reduced Daphne and Jill to tears. And when, upon the sickly resumption of negotiations, it appeared highly probable that they would not be permitted to proceed, Jill had wept openly....

France is nothing if not emotional.

Visibly affected by her distress, the police had immediately become less hostile. Observing this, Daphne had discreetly followed her cousin’s example. Before the sledge-hammer blows of their lamentation two gendarmes began to sniff and a third broke down. The girls redoubled their sobs. They were practically there.

“You never saw anything like it,” concluded Jonah. “Within three minutes four of the police were crying, and the head bottle-washer was beating his breast and imploring me in broken accents to explain away my guilt. I threw five hundred francs on his desk and covered my eyes. With tears rolling down his cheeks, he pushed the notes under a blotting-pad and wrote laboriously upon a buff sheet. Then a woman was produced. Between explosions of distress she made us some tea. In common decency we couldn’t push off for a while. Besides, I wasn’t quite sure that it was all over. However, everybody seemed too overcome to say anything, so, after a bit, we chanced it and made a move for the car. To my relief, they actually helped us in, and two of them fought as to who should start us up.” He looked round coldly. “And now, perhaps, you’ll be good enough to tell us what we’ve been punished for.”

I told what there was to tell.

As I came to the end. Berry nodded at Jonah.

“Yes,” he said unctuously, “and let this be a lesson to you, brother.”

Speechless with indignation, our cousin regarded him.

At length—

“What d’you mean?” he demanded.

Berry raised his eyebrows.

“I hardly think,” he said, “the penalty for—er—loitering would have been so vindictive.”