Toulouse, _December 16_.
Dear Montie,
I can't let you alone, you see. I must unburden myself, or something
will happen--something apoplectic. If I have sinned, I am punished; and
so far as I can see the worst still stretches before me in a long vista.
It was good of you to scrawl off that second letter, at midnight, as an
afterthought. It was forwarded, and has just reached me here, by grand
good luck.
You say I would do better to make a clean breast of it; but that's
easier said than done. You're not here, and you can't see the "lie of
the land" as I can. I'll explain the position to you, from my point of
view, for I think you don't quite understand it.
Not to mince matters, I am a Fraud, and Miss Randolph is the sort of
girl to resent being imposed upon, If this Payne, who rejoices in the
name of Jimmy, should find out the truth about me and tell her
to-morrow, she would be exceedingly angry, as she would have a right to
be, and would, I think, find it hard to forgive me. It is because I have
felt this instinctively that I have let things slide. I have drifted
down the stream of enjoyment, saying to the passing hour, like Goethe's
hero, "Stay, thou art fair," though too often the thought would present
itself that this could not go on for ever. Besides, there were
drawbacks, big or little, according to my mood. I have always kept it
before myself, more or less, that some day Miss Randolph would dispense
with me and my car, in the natural course of affairs, even if the event
were not hastened by some _contretemps_ or other; and that it might then
be as difficult to adjust matters as it is now. But in truth I hope it
won't be so. What I aim to do is to make myself so indispensable to her
as Brown that she can't bring herself to get on without me as Jack
Winston. I haven't done that yet, though it isn't for lack of trying;
therefore I'm not ready for the crisis, and therefore I'm afraid of
Payne. Yes, "afraid," that's the word. And my one consolation is that
he's equally afraid of me.
Your ordinary, habitual liar can bear up if he's found out, and laugh it
off somehow, but your snob and boaster can't. This man could hardly
survive being stripped of his dukes and earls, with which he's covered
his untitled nakedness as with a mantle, for the eyes of Miss Randolph.
In this natural phenomenon lies my chance of gaining time, and other
things that I want.
You would have had some pure enjoyment out of to-day if you had been the
fifth person on my Napier. If you could have heard Aunt Mary (who, in
common with a certain type of American, worships a title and rolls it on
her tongue as if it were a plover's egg out of season) asking "Jimmy"
questions about his grand English friends! Knowing that my cold and
venomous eye was upon him, and writhing under it, he had to answer her
questions. "What sort of looking man is the Duke of Burford, Jimmy? Did
you ever stay at any of his country places? Is it true that he often
entertains the Royalties? Were you ever asked to a house-party to meet
the King and Queen?"
I could almost have found it in my heart to pity him; but my interests
at stake were too big for me to have derived the serene pleasure from
the situation that you might have enjoyed as an initiated outsider. But
with my attempted explanations and my chortlings I've digressed too
much, and I'll get back to "Hecuba."
We started from the "Gassion." Miss Randolph announced that she would
drive at first. This was, I judged, a sop for me, as Cerberus. But Payne
was given the seat of honour beside her, and I was relegated to the
_tonneau_ with Aunt Mary and the other impedimenta. My day was over!
Miss Kedison considers it _infra dig._ to converse with a servant,
though she has been content often enough to use me as a guide-book. She
doesn't like sitting in front, so she was obliged to put up with my
physical nearness, but she took pains to emphasise her soul's
remoteness. I think her opinion of me has been for some time that I am
"too big for my boots," and I was not surprised to learn that it was by
her advice Mr. Payne had been invited to join the party. No doubt she
thought it would put me in my proper place, and so it has. Besides, we
had not been long _en route_ when I gleaned from several indications,
small in themselves, that "Jimmy" is a great favourite with her, so
great that she would not object to becoming his aunt by marriage. They
are warm friends, and if he hasn't already poured into her ear
confidences prejudicial to me, there, I fear, lies danger for the
future.
We had not been gone long from Pau before Miss Randolph glanced round at
me--a risky thing to do when you're driving; but the road was straight
and clear as far as the eye could see. I was half in hopes she would
request me to drive; but not so. "By the way, Brown," said she, "I
forgot to ask; didn't I see you at the golf club the other day?"
From the form of the question I couldn't tell whether Payne had played
the sneak or not, nor could I guess from her face, as she had turned to
business again. As for him, he had ignored me haughtily since the start.
"_Me_, miss, at the golf club?" I promptly protested, regardless of
grammar and not sure I wasn't in for an explosion which would blow poor
Brown sky-high; "why, a _chauffeur_ wouldn't be admitted there."
"I suppose not," she answered over her shoulder. "But there was a man
very like you when my friends took me--and walking with Mr. Payne, too."
"Now for it!" thought I. But then Jimmy's first words reassured me. "Oh,
I don't know all the strangers one talks to at a club," he replied in
haste; and then, by way of changing the subject, the bounder asked Miss
Randolph if she wouldn't let him drive. "It's over a hundred miles to
Toulouse, and you'll want a firm hand, for the days are short," he had
the impudence to add.
At that I lost my head, and made a big mistake. I felt I couldn't stand
sitting still while he tried experiments with my car, and almost before
I knew what I was doing I blurted out, "Beg pardon, miss, but are you
sure this gentleman understands driving a Napier? My master expected
that _I_ was to drive his car when he let it out, and----"
Such a look of reproach as the Goddess threw me! "But _I_ understand
that, while I hire the car it is mine to do as I like with, in reason,"
she cut me short. "Mr. Payne tells me that he has often driven his
friend the Duke of Burford's Napier. And if anything happens to your
master's car while I have it, I will pay for the damage up to its full
value, so your mind may be at ease on his account."
With this well-deserved, but none the less crushing snub she brought the
car to a standstill and inadvertently stopped the motor. After virtually
agreeing the night before to let Payne drive, I ought to have kept my
mouth shut; but you will admit that the temptation was strong. I
descended, like a well-conducted _chauffeur_, to help my mistress change
places with my hated rival, and of course it was my duty to start the
motor again, which I did. Before I could get out of the way, Payne
started--on the third speed, like the duffer he is, changing so quickly
to the second that I had to race after the car and hurl myself into the
_tonneau_ to avoid being left behind. In doing this I unfortunately trod
on Aunt Mary's toes. She groaned, glared, and muttered only half below
her breath, "Clumsy creature!" Thoroughly humiliated, and no longer in a
mood to care whether their Jimmy wrecked the car and killed us (all but
one) I took my seat. I do believe that Aunt Mary secretly thinks me
capable of having misjudged and ill-treated Eyelashes, who laid himself
out to "be nice" to her.
Hardly had we started when I heard Miss Randolph telling Payne that this
car belonged to the Honourable John Winston, Lord Brighthelmston's son,
and asking him if he had ever met Mr. Winston. I suppose that, in the
excitement of managing a big machine which he knew little or nothing
about, Payne forgot that, since I "went with the car," the owner must
have been one of those (to him) fatal old masters of mine. He can't bear
to deny the soft impeachment of knowing anyone whom he thinks may be a
swell, and in the hurry of the moment habit got the better of prudence.
"Oh yes, I know Jack very well!" he exclaimed; then drew in his breath
with a little gasp which he turned into a cough. In that moment he had
probably remembered me.
"I suppose you know his mother, then?" said Miss Randolph. "I met her in
Paris. She's at Cannes now, and so you will see her there."
"Ye--es," returned Jimmy. "Oh yes, I shall certainly see her. I know
Lord Brighthelmston better than I do her; but I shall call, of course."
What with his fear of having committed himself anew, and the chill in
his marrow produced by my critical eye on his vertebrae, he grew more and
more nervous, wobbling whenever there was a delicate piece of steering
to be done or a restive horse to be passed. He changed speeds so
clumsily that the pinions went together with a crash each time, and
shivers ran up and down my spine when I heard the noise and thought of
the damage this conceited idiot might do to my poor gears. Could _you_
stand by like Patience on the lee cathead, smiling at a wet swab, while
some duffer with a whip and spurs bestrode your favourite stallion,
Roland? Perhaps that simile will help you to understand how I've been
feeling all day.
Payne is a rank amateur. I doubt if he ever drove a Napier before, and
would bet something he depended for his success to-day (such as it was)
on keen observation of everything Miss Randolph did before he took the
helm. He knows how to steer a moderately straight course and to change
speeds--that's about all; and I wouldn't trust his nerve in an
emergency. However, we bowled along without incident through Tarbes and
Tournay, thanks more to the fine car than the driver; but when mounting
a long stretch of steep road beyond a place called Lanespede, where a
great railway viaduct crosses the valley, Payne missed his change, and
then completely lost his head, failing to put on the brakes to prevent
us running down the hill backwards. Luckily I was sitting on the brake
side, and reaching out of the _tonneau_, I seized the lever of the
hand-brake and jammed it on. Next instant (to make quite sure) I jumped
out, ran to the front, and lowered the sprag. I don't think any of them
knew what a narrow escape we'd had, and Payne covered himself by
abusing the car. We started up again on the second, and came out on an
undulating plain overlooking a little watering-place called
Capvern-les-Bains, lying far below in a dimple of the Pyrenean
foothills.
There was no other incident till we came to Montrejeau, where my
road-book showed that there was an uncommonly steep hill. So I ventured
to say over Payne's shoulder, "Better look out here, sir; a bad hill."
The cad had not the civility to notice my warning, but charged through
the long street of the town till he came to the verge of a dangerous
descent, dipping steeply and suddenly for a little way, then turning
abruptly to the left. He was taking the hill at a reckless pace, not
because he was plucky, but because he knew no better; and half-way down,
seeing a lumbering station-omnibus climbing slowly up, not leaving much
room, he began to get wild in his steering. Again I hung out, and gently
but firmly put on the hand-brake, steadying the car. The idiot didn't
even see how I had saved him, for when we got safely down he said to
Miss Randolph, "Took that hill flying, didn't I?" I can tell you I was
glad when we pulled up for luncheon at St. Gaudens, knowing that the
road here turns away from the Pyrenees to cross the great plain of
Languedoc.
Blessed plain of Languedoc, which has been abused by some travellers for
its monotony! Sitting silently in the _tonneau_ with Aunt Mary, I
revelled in the long, straight level of wide, poplar-fringed road that
stretched as far as the eye could reach, running up to a point in the
distant perspective. "Here, at any rate," I reflected, "the duffer at
the wheel can't do us much harm." It was a beautiful scene, had I been
in tune to enjoy it, for the Pyrenees showed their blue outlines on the
far horizon, and the Garonne gave us many pictures near at hand. There
was in particular one sweet sylvan "bit" at a place called St. Martory,
which, though it was but a fleeting glimpse, framed itself in my mind
with all the precision of a stereoscopic view.
It was a relief to me, when this evening, we ran into Toulouse; its many
buildings of brick lying along the bank of the broad and peaceful
Garonne, looking curiously rose-hued in the level rays of the declining
sun.
But poor car! when I set to work at cleaning it after its ill-treatment
it seemed to reproach me for disloyalty. Its very lamps were like
mournful, misunderstood eyes. And this is only the first day of many.
How long, O friend, how long? I don't quite see what is to become of
your unfortunate
Jack Winston.
Narbonne, _December 17_.
I didn't post the beginning of this letter. I felt I should want to add
something.
Another day has passed--a day of alarms and excursions. Payne has made
an ass of himself, and I have scored off him, winning my way back to the
front seat of the car, and relegating him to the _tonneau_ with Aunt
Mary. But I have not shaken him off. He's still in our pocket, and to
all appearance means to stick there. The situation, therefore, remains
essentially what it was yesterday.
But for the incident of which I will tell you, this might have been one
of the most delightful bits of the whole tour. Even though at first I
was stuffed into the _tonneau_, I couldn't help finding pleasure in the
pictures through which we flashed in the earlier part of the day.
There was a good deal of _pave_ to traverse before we were clear of
Toulouse, and then we came into a fine, open world, chasing and passing
many peasants' carts. These always occupy the middle of the road, and as
their drivers are often asleep, there is much blowing of the horn and
shouting before they pull over to their right side. Presently we found
out the meaning of this stream of carts, for we ran into a large village
with turkeys and geese all over the road, like carpet bedding, tied by
the legs and cackling loudly. There were crowds of peasants--old and
young; the old women with neat, black silk head-dresses framing their
brown, wrinkled faces; and through, the midst of this animated scene we
had to drive at a foot-pace, tootling on the horn. On the other side of
the long village we found ourselves on a wide, level road, that for
smoothness would shame a billiard-table, crossed the green Canal du
Midi, and ran for a while by its side, passing a queer obelisk erected
to Riquet, its constructor.
Suddenly, on mounting a hill, an enormous view spread out before us. The
distant Pyrenees showed their serrated line far away to the right,
their snowy tops spectral over an intervening range of hills; to the
left stretched a vast, undulating tract of country, with towns and
church spires distinctly outlined in the clear, crisp air--for it was a
day of glorious lights. Beyond all was a range of vague, blue hills
which I knew to be the Cevennes, sacred to the memory of Robert Louis
Stevenson.
We sped through village after village--a long street; children in
blouses playing strange games, disputing in shrill voices, wagging
little eloquent fingers under each other's noses; handsome men clothed
in blue, with red sashes and the universal _berret_ on their heads,
guiding with their cruel goads patient teams of yoked oxen; a group of
persons round a church door--a wedding, perhaps a funeral; old women
knitting in the sun, young women smiling from windows--all these
impressions follow each other like flickering pictures in a
cinematograph; and then with the last flicker one is out again on the
broad, white road, with the flying trees spinning by on either hand, and
the white, filmy clouds floating in an azure sky. It is only on the
motor-car that you get all these sensations. In a train you are in a
box; on a motor you are in a chariot of fire with the wide heavens open
above you.
At Castelnaudary there was another scene of animation, for here also it
was market day; and though it was only twenty miles or so on to
Carcassonne (our intended destination), my betters decided that they
would take luncheon at the hotel in Castelnaudary. For the first time
since Payne has been with us Miss Randolph seemed to wish to restore me
to my old, lost footing. "You must lunch with us, Brown," she said, with
a smile that goes straight to one's heart. But I was not in a gracious
mood. I had had enough of Aunt Mary; I could not stand the haughty
Payne. I answered, therefore, rather shortly. There were certain
adjustments to be done on the car which would occupy some time, I said,
and I would take my luncheon later. Her poor little friendly smile went
out, like a lamp extinguished. For an instant she lingered, then turned
away without a word, and I could have bitten out my own surly tongue.
To justify myself I pottered with the car, then went moping off to
another hotel, and tried to restore my lost spirits with _pate de foie
de canard_ and fresh walnuts, which would have delighted the palate of a
happier man.
At it was I had neither the heart nor the stomach to linger over the
feast, and consequently got back long before the others were ready for
me. _They_ didn't hurry themselves. I promise you. While busying myself
in flicking dust off the car, a courteous little crowd assembled and
questioned me as to the make of the car (expressing surprise when they
heard it was all English, even to the tyres) and as to how far I had
come. When I said "From Dieppe _via_ Biarritz" a murmur of respect
rippled to the outer edge of the group, and at this moment my party
appeared.
Payne wore a swaggering air, and looked now like Little Lord Fauntleroy
gone wrong. He was far too big a man to notice me, or any of the
kindly, simple people who had been admiring the car, and came up with
us, talking his loudest to Aunt Mary. He almost elbowed me aside, and
got into the driver's seat as a matter of course. Perhaps he had looked
upon the rich wine of the country when it was red, though I didn't think
of that at the time, and attributed his exaggerated insolence to natural
cussedness of soul.
We swept away from the hotel with a curve, which isn't a line of beauty
for a motor-car, and as we left the town Jimmy's conception of his part
as driver became so eccentric that Miss Randolph looked worried--that
is, her pretty shoulders stiffened themselves; I couldn't often see her
face--and Aunt Mary more than once gave vent to a frightened squeak.
Once, in her extremity as we shaved the wheel of a passing cart, she
unbent so far as to throw an appealing glance at me. But I sat in stony
silence with crossed arms, looking oblivious to all that went on and
somewhat resembling, I flattered myself, portraits of Napoleon beholding
the burning of Moscow.
On the high road Jimmy began to recover his form--if it be worth the
name--but, as if to show that he was all right, and never had been
otherwise, he put the car at its quickest pace, which was so far from
safe on a road dotted with carts that I began to expect trouble; and if
it hadn't been for Miss Randolph, to see my expectation fulfilled would
have pleased the baser part of me. Once or twice a cartload of peasants
scowled savagely at us as we rushed past on our headlong career, and at
length I had the satisfaction of hearing Miss Randolph rather stiffly
suggest that Jimmy should moderate the pace. He obeyed with a laugh,
which he meant to be recklessly brave, yet indulgent to the weaknesses
of women; but in my ears it only sounded silly. At this moment a
two-wheeled cart with five peasants in it--three men and two women--came
in sight.
As soon as they saw us one of the men--a big, black-browed fellow--held
up his hand imperatively in warning. Another fine, muscular chap jumped
down and ran to the horse's head. Anyone with a grain of sense or
consideration, on seeing these signals, would have slowed down, and if
necessary have stopped the engine altogether; but though I heard Miss
Randolph beg him to go slow, Sherlock-Fauntleroy held right on at a good
twenty-five miles an hour.
In a moment or two we had come level with the cart, and the horse
bolted. The man leading it was thrown violently to the ground, and the
cart went over him. Luckily he tucked in his head and drew up his feet,
or he would have been shockingly hurt, perhaps killed. He lay a moment
or two, half stunned with the shock, while the horse galloped away,
dragging after him the swaying cart, the two women screaming at the top
of their voices. The man driving managed to pull up the frightened
animals some way down the road, and the people in the cart scrambled out
to help their fallen friend, who meanwhile had picked himself up, and
pale with fright and passion, blood streaming down his face, was
limping after the car gesticulating violently.
Payne had not turned his head, and the moment that a startled "Oh!" from
Miss Randolph told him there had been an accident he put on speed,
clearly with the intention of avoiding a row. The injured man stooped to
pick up a stone. At the same instant Miss Randolph, in her most
imperious manner (and she can be imperious), commanded Payne to stop
instantly and go back. "But we shall have the whole pack of them on us
like wolves," he objected. "_Go back!_" she repeated, stamping her
little foot. "I won't hurt a man and drive away." Suddenly Payne pulled
up, and putting in the reverse, we ran slowly into the midst of the
horde of angry peasants, swollen now by many others who had been passing
along the crowded road.
As we backed into that sea of scowling faces I thought of the various
revolutions France has seen. It was like stirring up a wasps' nest.
Everyone was yelling at once. In the front rank stood the man who had
been knocked down, his trousers cut to tatters. He had lashed himself
into such a fury that he had become almost incoherent, and the flood of
speech which rushed from his white lips was more like the yells of an
animal than the ordered utterance of a human being. By his side were the
two women who had been in the cart, both sobbing and screaming, while
everyone else in the angry mob shouted simultaneously. Aunt Mary went
very pale; Payne looked upon his handiwork with a sulky grin; but Miss
Randolph took the business in hand with the greatest pluck. She had
whisked off her veil and faced the people boldly, her grey eyes meeting
theirs, her face white, save for a bright pink spot on either cheek. At
sight of her beauty the clamour died down, and in the lull she spoke to
the man who had been thrown under the horse.
"I am very sorry you are hurt," she said, "and shall be pleased to give
you something to buy yourself new clothes. Are you injured anywhere?"
At the sound of her correct but foreign-sounding French someone in the
crowd shouted out, "_A bas les Anglais!_" The girl drew herself up
proudly and looked in the direction of the voice. She didn't try to
excuse herself by denying England and claiming a nationality more
popular in France, and I loved her more than ever for this reticence.
"Pay!" shouted the man who had been hurt, with one hand wiping a trickle
of blood out of his eye, with the other thumping the mud-guard of the
car. "Of course you shall pay. God only knows what injuries I have
received. _Mazette!_ I am all one ache. Ah, you pay well, or you do not
go on!" He pressed closer to the car, and his friends closed in around
him.
"Pay them, Molly! pay anything they ask!" quavered Aunt Mary, "or they
will kill us! Oh, I always knew something like this was bound to happen!
What a fool I was to leave my peaceful home and come to a country of
thieves and murderers!"
"Don't be frightened, Aunt Mary," said the girl, with more patience for
her relative's garrulous complaints than I had. Then she turned to me.
"Brown, is that man much hurt?" she asked briskly.
"No," I replied. "He is merely scratched, and no doubt bruised. If he
had any bones broken, any internal injury or severe strain, he couldn't
rage about like a mad bull."
"Still, it was our fault," she said. "We ought to have stopped. His
clothes are torn. How much ought we to pay?"
"Nothing at all," said Sherlock. "Don't you let yourself be
blackmailed."
She didn't answer or look in his direction, thus emphasising the fact
that she had asked her question of me, not of him.
"Fifty francs would be generous," I said, "to buy the fellow a new suit
of clothes and pay for a bottle of liniment. With that to-morrow he
would be thanking his stars for the accident. But as Mr. Payne was
driving, hadn't you better let him talk to them? It isn't right that two
men should stand by and let the burden fall on a lady."
"_You_ speak to them, Brown; I give you _carte blanche_," said she, and
we faced the mob together.
"If you threaten us," I said, "you shall have nothing. We were going
fast, but your horse is badly broken, and is more of a danger on the
road than an automobile. If you behave yourself and tell your friends to
do likewise, this lady wishes to give you fifty francs to buy new
clothes in place of those which have suffered in this accident. But we
don't intend to be bullied."
"Fifty francs!" shrieked the man. "Fifty francs for a man's life! Bah!
You aristocrats! Five hundred francs; not a sou less, or you do not stir
from this place. Fifty francs! _Mazette!_"
"You are talking nonsense, and you know it," said I roughly. "Stand out
of our way, or we will send for the police."
Now this was bluff, for the last thing to be desired was the presence of
the police. I had been careful to get in Paris the necessary _permis de
conduire_ from the Department of Mines, without which it is illegal to
drive a motor vehicle of any sort in France. But I had heard Payne
boasting to Miss Randolph that he never bothered himself about a lot of
useless red tape; it was only milksops and amateurs who did that. I, as
Brown, had kept "my master's" papers, but it would do more harm than
good to our cause, should it come to an investigation, if I attempted to
pass over my permit to Payne. Were the police to appear on the scene
their first demand would be for papers, and if the man who had been
driving were unable to produce any, not all our just complaints of the
peasants' unlawful threats would help us. Payne would be liable to
arrest and imprisonment; not only would he be heavily fined, but we
should all be detained, perhaps for weeks; and as French magistrates
have as strong a prejudice against the automobile as their English
brothers, especially when the offender is a foreigner, it might go hard
with everyone concerned. This would be a dismal interruption of our
tour, and if I hadn't felt sure that the enemy would be in as great a
funk of the police as we were, I wouldn't have ventured on so bold a
bluff. I trembled internally for an instant as to its success, but as
usual in life and poker, it paid.
"No, you don't!" shouted not the one peasant, but many in chorus, as
unlike the merry peasant-chorus of light opera as you can imagine. "We
won't have the police. We attend to this affair ourselves."
And it began to look as if they meant to. "Give the five hundred francs,
or you will be sorry!" they yelled, and again, in a second, they were
all surging round us, threatening with their fists, snatching out their
pocket-knives, and I saw things were getting hot. A French crowd barks a
good deal before it bites, but this one had come to the biting stage. We
were far from town and the police, even if the latter wouldn't have done
us more harm than good. Here we had Miss Randolph and Miss Kedison. If
Payne were as useless as I judged him, I was one man against forty.
The two ladies were still on the car. Payne had got off at first, but
had slipped back when things began to be lively. I alone was on the
ground, close to the bonnet, so that if needful I could protect the
motor and Miss Randolph at the same time.
The crowd consulted an instant, then stampeded the car. Aunt Mary
shrieked, and threw out her purse, as if she flung a live lamb to hungry
wolves. The motor was going still, but to charge into the crowd might
mean killing a dozen wretched peasants. It was out of the question, but
something must be done, and now was the moment for doing it. One fellow
tried to snatch a sable rug off Miss Kedison's knees; I struck his hand
away, and sent him staggering. Then I yelled to Payne to get into the
_tonneau_. There was no more pride left in him than in a rag, and he
crawled over, like a dog. Meanwhile, I'd made up my mind what to do, and
was going to try an experiment as our best chance to get out of the town
without bloodshed.
I knew that a union which held the exhaust pipe in place on the silencer
had been working loose. I grabbed a spanner out of the tool-box, and
elbowing my way along the side of the car again, with two turns of the
spanner loosened the union, pushed forward the throttle-lever in the
steering-post, and gave the motor all its gas.
The thing was done in a quarter the time it's taken me to write of it,
and you can guess the effect. Bang! bang! came a succession of
explosions quick and pitiless as a Maxim gun. Those peasants gave way
like wheat before the scythe. I don't doubt they thought they were shot
and on the way to kingdom come; and before they'd time to find out their
mistake I was up on the step, had seized the steering-wheel, and started
the car. We were on a slight decline, and the good steed bounded forward
at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. An instant later I slipped in the
fourth, and we were going forty-five.
When the enemy saw how they'd been tricked, which they did in about six
seconds, they were after us with a howl. A shower of stones fell
harmlessly on the road behind us, angry yells were drowned in the
hideous noise of the exhaust. We could afford to laugh at the thought of
pursuit. But there was another side to the story. Now that there was no
one on the spot to complain of their threats of violence, they could
safely apply to the police and make a bold stroke for vengeance, just as
we had for escape. However, there was no use in thinking of that for the
moment; I had done the best I could and must go on doing it. No normal
tympanum could stand the racket of the exhaust for long, and Miss
Randolph and Miss Kedison were sitting with their hands over their ears,
the lower part of Aunt Mary's face under her mask expressing a comical
horror. I caught sight of her visage when I stopped the car (which I did
as soon as we were beyond danger of pursuit) to fasten up the silencer
again; and it was all I could do not to laugh.
The fastening-up business was an affair of two or three minutes, and at
first the three sat in shocked silence, their heads dazed by the late
ear-splitting din. Then, the cool peace of welcome silence was broken by
Mr. Payne. "I consider," he said stiffly to Miss Randolph, "that your
_mecanicien_ has behaved with unwarrantable insolence in ordering
me----"
"And I consider that he saved the situation," cut in the _mecanicien's_
mistress.
"I acted for what I thought the best, miss; there wasn't much time to
decide," said I, with a sleek humility which I assume on occasions. "If
I have given offence, I am sorry," I went on, looking at her and not at
Payne.
"You haven't given offence," she said. "I am sure Mr. Payne, when he
comes to reflect, will see that you did yeoman's service. But what is
to happen now? I suppose we're not safe from trouble yet, and we don't
deserve to be."
I thought it rather sporting of her to say "we," when all the bother was
due to the conceit and cocksureness of one person.
"No, miss, we don't deserve to be, if you'll excuse the liberty," I
meekly replied. "We had no business charging along a crowded road the
way we did. I'm sure, until to-day, we've never had anything but
courtesy from people of all classes. It isn't often French peasants
misbehave themselves, and to-day most of the wrong was on our side,
though it's true that their horse was skittish; and being market-day, I
daresay they'd taken a little more red wine than was good for them. The
wine of this country is apt to go to the head."
I spoke to Miss Randolph, but _at_ Jimmy, especially when I gave that
dig about the wine. I finished my tirade and my work on the silencer at
the same time, and it was then that my triumph came. Instead of getting
back on the car, I stood still in the road.
"What are you waiting for?" asked Miss Randolph.
"For Mr. Payne to take his place in the driver's seat," said I.
At this he half jumped up in the _tonneau_, but Miss Randolph hurriedly
exclaimed, "Oh, I think you had better drive for a while, Brown. I want
to talk to you, and ask you what to do, and what will happen next."
Little Lord Fauntleroy, with every Sherlockian characteristic
temporarily obliterated, sat down again in the _tonneau_ pouting.
We had not wasted five minutes, and now we sprang forward at a good
speed for Carcassonne.
"What will happen next," I said, answering Miss Randolph's question,
"may be this. If the peasants are angry enough to take the trouble and
risk, all they have to do is to go to the police-station in the nearest
village and give information against us, when a wire with a description
of us and the car will raise the whole country so that we shall not be
safe anywhere."
"Oh, my gracious!" the poor child exclaimed. "What are we to do? Aunt
Mary and I have other hats and jackets and things in our car-luggage.
Couldn't we change, so as to look quite different, and buy a lot of--of
Aspinall, or something in the next village before they've had time to
give the alarm, and paint the poor car a bright scarlet? Then we should
get through and no one would know."
I couldn't help laughing, though really her suggestion wasn't so
fantastic as it may sound, for I know a man who did that very trick in
somewhat similar circumstances; but her earnestness combined with the
childlike guile on her face was comic.
"It would be too long a job to paint the car before we could be
spotted," I said. "I think we must just hope for the best, and show a
bold face. I shouldn't be surprised if we'd get through all right
somehow. Perhaps, if there was much money in your aunt's purse, miss,
the peasants would prefer keeping their mouths shut and sticking to that
than mixing themselves up with the police and perhaps losing what they
might have had, like the dog with his meat in the fable."
"There were about a hundred francs in my purse," announced Aunt Mary.
"If they do catch us, what then?" the girl asked.