ACROSS THE ALPS
It was still so early in the morning that the gyro-car ran through
Melun without attracting attention, except from a few market-people and
a priest on the way to church. Maurice inquired the way to Sens of a
wagoner, and they mounted the hill towards the village of Sivry at a
speed of twenty miles an hour. On reaching level ground again George
increased the speed, and before 7 o’clock arrived at the crest of the
long hill descending to Montereau. The morning sun shed a brilliance
over the town, which had scarcely yet awaked to activity; and as the
travellers coasted down the hill, they forgot their excitement for a
few moments as their eyes delighted in the spectacle of river, church,
and castle.
There being still no sign of pursuit, they halted at a blacksmith’s and
alighted. The clang of hammer on anvil ceased, and the smith, attracted
by the sound of the engines, came to his door.
“Hé, messieurs!” he said on beholding the gyro-car balanced on its four
wheels, “comment ce diable de machine se tient-il debout?”
Maurice laughingly explained, while George stopped to examine the
wheels. He found that the tyre of the foremost of them was gashed.
Luckily he had a spare tyre in the car, and, replacing the injured one
with assistance from the smith, he was ready to set off again in a few
minutes.
On leaving Montereau they spun along the excellent road at the rate of
thirty-five miles an hour.
“I presume they have a speed limit in France,” said Maurice, warningly.
“Oh yes, thirty kilometres. Every town can fix its own, I believe, and
it’s as low as six kilometres in some, but we needn’t bother about
that. There are no bobbies on the roads here, with stop-watches.”
“But there’s a penalty, I suppose?”
“No doubt, but I don’t believe they prosecute unless you do some
damage. Far more sensible than our ridiculous regulations.”
“Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir,” said Maurice.
“What’s that mean?”
“Your ignorance is deplorable. Haven’t you heard that prevention is
better than cure?”
“That’s all rot: you don’t have all your teeth pulled to prevent
toothache. I wonder the French have such a proverb. It’s our confounded
British caution that let them get ahead of us in motoring and aviation.
And look here, Maurice, don’t for goodness’ sake talk French to me.
Keep it for emergencies. I can’t stand it.”
At Sens they waited only to purchase a spare tyre and to swallow a
plate of soup at the Buffet. Then they set off again, intending to get
a substantial _déjeuner_ at Dijon. Both were rather sleepy, and as the
temperature increased Maurice began to doze. George took advantage of
this to spin along at a much higher speed than before. The road was so
good, running almost all the way through a valley, that the gyro-car
travelled with as little vibration, noise and dust as a motor-car of
the best make going at half its speed.
It was a little past twelve o’clock when George came in sight of a
large town, which he guessed was Dijon. He nudged Maurice, exclaiming:
“Here we are! I’m desperately hungry, and now’s the time for you to air
your French.”
“Surely we’re not at Dijon already! It’s--let me see”--he turned over
the pages of his Guide--“it’s over three hundred kilometres from
Paris--a hundred and eighty miles. You must have been tearing along at
a terrific pace.”
“Not fast enough to wake you. You don’t snore very loud, old man; but I
haven’t had to use my hooter.”
Maurice ignored his brother’s impudence.
“This Guide is all very well,” he said, “but it doesn’t name any
hotels. I shall have to inquire.”
“Well, there are plenty of people about, staring at us with all their
eyes. Ask that dear old Sister of Mercy there: did you ever see such a
happy-looking old lady!”
But here a red-trousered gendarme came up and requested Monsieur
to show his _certificat de capacité_. George was producing his
motor-bicycle licence, and a corner of it was visible, when Maurice
slipped a franc into the man’s hand and asked him to direct him to an
hotel.
“Ah! Monsieur is English!” said the gendarme. “There is a good hotel in
the Place Darcy to Monsieur’s left. Merci bien, monsieur.”
“As you’ve driven so fast,” said Maurice, as they went in the direction
indicated, “we ought to have plenty of time for a decent meal, even if
the Count is still after us. I’m afraid there won’t be time for you to
have a nap.”
“Oh! I’ll take my turn when we start again. I think I can trust you to
drive--for a few miles at any rate.”
For seven francs they had a capital _déjeuner_ at the hotel. When they
had finished, George had the machine oiled, and bought a supply of
petrol, and about 1 o’clock they started for the next stage of their
journey, Beaune, thirty-six kilometres distant.
“Now, old boy, it’s up to you,” said George, as they left the town
behind them. “The road is quite flat, and we’ll get along all right if
you’re careful. Wake me if anything happens.”
Maurice had driven the car once or twice at home, so that he undertook
the piloting without any tremors. But, being cautious by nature and
training, he contented himself with a speed of twenty miles. It was
more than an hour before he reached Beaune. George was fast asleep, so
his brother made no halt, but ran on at the same pace along an equally
level road for another two hours. Then, just after passing the village
of Romenay, where for the first time in more than fifty miles the road
undulated, he heard the characteristic hum of a motor-car some distance
behind. The gyro-car itself, moving at a comparatively low speed, made
so little noise that he was aware of the sound almost as soon as if he
had been walking.
The road was clear, and, keeping his hand on the steering wheel, he
ventured to look round. A considerable quantity of dust was rising, and
through this cloud he was for a few moments unable to see whether the
motor was actually travelling the same road or not. But going round
a slight curve in the direction from which the breeze was blowing,
he saw, as the dust was carried aside, a motor-car running at a
great rate towards him, about half a mile away. He could take only a
fleeting glance, the alternate dip and rise of the road necessitating
watchfulness; but that glance sufficed to tell him that the car was
running at a much higher speed than his own.
He wakened George.
“There is a motor behind us,” he said. “Just take a look at it.”
George was up in an instant.
“There’s so much dust that I can’t be sure of the colour of it,” he
said, “but it’s a powerful car, and gaining on us. What’s your speed?”
He glanced at the indicator. “Twenty! quite lady-like, upon my word.
Let me get back to my place.”
“I don’t like the idea of running away,” said Maurice. “It may not be
the Count’s car at all.”
“Prevention is better than cure, as you reminded me a while ago,” said
George with a grin. He looked back along the road again. “By gum!” he
cried, “it’s coming at a spanking pace. It must be a racer. Better be
on the safe side. I’ll drive; you keep your eye on it. You may be able
to see the colour of it when we come to a curve.”
They exchanged places. George immediately increased the speed to
forty miles. At that rate he dashed through the village of Mantenay,
outstripping a train that was running along the line. Farm labourers
trudging home from the fields pressed into the hedges to avoid the car,
and at St. Julien, a mile and a half further, George narrowly escaped
dashing into a flock of geese, which waddled off into the village pond
uttering shrill cries of alarm.
“Better be careful,” said Maurice.
“Oh, geese don’t matter. I killed one near Caudebec at Easter, and the
owner came up in great excitement with a gendarme. But the gendarme
only shrugged his shoulders and said, as near as I could make out, ‘It
is forbidden to pasture geese by the roadside.’”
Maurice smiled.
“Pasturing geese is distinctly good,” he said. Again the road was quite
level.
“It is still gaining, very rapidly now,” said Maurice, who caught
fleeting glimpses of the motor through rifts in the cloud of dust. “And
it is green as grass!”
“Well, I hope the Count likes our dust,” said George. “He must be
getting his fill of it. We’ll go a little faster.”
He advanced the speed-lever, and increased the pace to fifty, and
finally sixty miles an hour, at which rate the car dashed through
Javat. The horse attached to a market-wagon there took fright, and
galloped into a by-road only just in time to avoid a collision. The
kilometre stones flashed by at two a minute. A sign-post with a staring
warning, “_Allure modérée_,” at the entrance to Montrevel, forced
George to reduce his speed to fifteen kilometres; but since this
applied equally to the pursuing motor he did not care a rap for that,
as he said. By the time they reached Bourg there was no sign of the
motor, but when they had run up the narrow wooded valley of Alberine
beyond Ambérieu, Maurice, looking back, descried the pursuer rushing
along at a reckless speed, its dust trailing behind like the smoke of a
steam-engine.
“They’ll lose up-hill,” said George. “We have the better of them there.
But it’s lucky the road is dry and pretty straight. If it were wet I
should have to slow down to avoid skidding.”
The road now undulated frequently, the slopes in some places being very
steep. They dashed along beside a picturesque lake; then, a little
distance ahead, they saw a level crossing, and a man in the act of
shutting the gates. George sounded his hooter and increased the speed.
The man hesitated, looking up the railway line. Before he could make up
his mind the car raced through.
A few miles further on they came to another level crossing. Here the
gates were already shut. Continuous hooting failed to bring out the
gate-keeper, and George had perforce to pull up.
“Another chance for your French, old man,” he cried to Maurice. “Skip
out and run to the cabin yonder. Tip the man handsomely, and he’ll let
us through.”
Maurice sprang out and hurried to the gate-keeper’s hut. The man was
eating his supper. Maurice lifted his hat, and, jingling the coins in
his pocket, said:
“Will you be good enough to open the gates?”
“Impossible, Monsieur; a train is due,” replied the man.
“We have a little wager with some German gentlemen in a green car
behind,” proceeded Maurice, pouring out the words with extraordinary
quickness. “They say 1870 is forgotten: they can run across France
as quickly and easily as a Frenchman. They have only to call, and a
Frenchman will spring to do their bidding. We don’t believe that, we
English. You’ll let us through, I’m sure, and we shall be able to show
our German friends that the _entente cordiale_ stands for something.”
Before he was half-way through this speech the gate-keeper had moved
to the door. By the time it was ended he was running to the gate. He
looked up the line; the train was not in sight, and in less than half a
minute the gates were thrown open.
“_Conspuez les Allemands!_” said the man as the gyro-car ran across.
The moment it had passed he closed the gates, and stood looking up the
road for the impudent Germans.
A few kilometres beyond Aix-les-Bains the road was blocked by the gates
of another crossing. Here Maurice told the same story, and the keeper
entered into the spirit of the trick even more thoroughly than the
other. The train would have passed, he thought, before the German car
could arrive, and he would have no reason for keeping the gates closed
against it.
“But no matter, Monsieur,” he said. “If no reason, I can find an
excuse. I have a little shunting to do. The Germans shall see!”
Pocketing Maurice’s coin with a cheerful grin, he shut the gates behind
the gyro-car and re-entered his cabin.
Evening dusk was falling; it would soon be dark. Maurice was anxious to
cross the Italian frontier that night. The little town of Modane, where
he must necessarily stop to deal with the Customs officers, was still
more than a hundred kilometres ahead. It might not be so easy there as
it had been at Calais to get the gyro-car passed. Maurice was ignorant
of the regulations, whereas he had little doubt that the pursuers were
well informed on all essential points.
“The worst of it is,” he said to George, “they are so horribly
persistent that we hardly dare stop even for a meal. They are
determined to run us down.”
“Couldn’t we lay a trap for them and smash up their old motor?”
suggested George.
“It’s too dangerous a game to play. We might trap the wrong people. And
I confess I take a sporting interest in the race. We don’t want to
harm the fellows; they are only doing what they are paid for. I regard
it as a match between our Government and the Austrian, and so much the
more credit to us if we play the game.”
“They won’t scruple about playing the game.”
“That hardly absolves us, does it? Their only chance of getting my
despatch is to overhaul us and take it by main force, so that it’s
essential that we should keep ahead of them. We have managed to delay
them at the level crossings; we must see what we can do at Modane, and
if you’re game, and we get through, we’ll go right on to Turin.”
“Don’t you want your dinner?” asked George.
“I am ravenous. We ought to have gained an hour or two by the time we
reach Turin, and can then get a meal. Look out, George; this is rather
steep.”
They were descending the hill into Chambéry, and here, for the first
time since leaving Paris, they were delayed at the _octroi_ barrier.
It was not yet dark, and hearing the hum of the approaching car, the
official stepped out of his little house into the road and held up his
hand as a signal to stop.
“There is no tax on petrol here; why can’t they leave us alone?”
grumbled George, as he brought the car to a standstill.
“They like to show their authority, I suppose,” replied Maurice. “Treat
them civilly, and all will be well.”
“Permit me, Monsieur,” said the man courteously, lifting his hat.
“Certainly, Monsieur,” said Maurice, rising in his seat.
The man looked into the car to see if the travellers had anything
taxable concealed: then poked a bamboo stick down among the
air-chambers, George being on thorns lest he should puncture them.
Finding nothing suspicious, he smiled pleasantly, lifted his hat again,
and waved his hand to indicate that the car might proceed.
“Confounded red tape!” growled George, as he re-started, after lighting
his lamp. “Now I’ll let her rip. What sort of road is it, Maurice?
Switch on the light and look at your Guide.”
“It’s a hundred and one kilometres to Modane, a gradual ascent all the
way. We’re coming among the mountains.”
“That’s all right. We’ll beat Slavianski easily, going up-hill. And how
much farther to Turin?”
“A hundred and twelve: that’s about a hundred and twenty-seven miles
altogether.”
“Well, we’ll do it in under four hours if the Customs don’t cause
trouble. We ought to get to Turin about eleven; there’ll be no traffic
on the road at this time of night; then we’ll have dinner, and follow
it with supper: I feel as if I hadn’t eaten for a week.”
They reached Modane in an hour and a half, and halted at the Customs
station. Maurice, feeling very stiff, alighted from the car, and
met the official at the door. He had already ascertained from his
Guide that the dues on motor-cars were levied by weight, but that
motor-cycles were passed on payment of a fixed due of forty-two francs.
“Monsieur will place the car on the weighing-machine,” said the
official, politely.
“Certainly, Monsieur, if you insist,” replied Maurice: “but, as you
perceive, our car is of the nature of a motor-cycle.”
The man walked towards it.
“It is as you say, Monsieur,” he said, staring at the car. “But, pardon
me, it runs on four wheels: _ma foi!_ it _stands_ on four wheels!
I have never seen such a thing before: it is not mentioned in the
regulations.”
“No, it is a new invention,” said Maurice, courteously, as if he were
addressing a prince. “It is, as you see, a sort of double bicycle, and
is kept upright when stationary by the gyroscopes spinning at the back
there. You would like to look at them, no doubt.”
“Don’t waste time,” said George in English.
“It will save time in the end. Stop the spinning and let down the
supports.”
The official was vastly interested in the novel mechanism. Maurice
explained it as well as he could, perpetrating several howlers, as
George informed him afterwards; then he suggested that, as there was no
provision in the regulations, the law might be satisfied on the payment
of the sum for a motor-cycle.
“But it is double, Monsieur. I must ask, I fear, for eighty-four
francs.”
“Very well,” said Maurice, handing over the money.
“Now, Monsieur,” said the official, “I must make out the certificate
for _importation temporaire_. You will give that up when you leave the
country, and the sum you have deposited will be returned to you.”
“Do you think you could stretch a point, and let us go without that?
We are in a great hurry, and I will tell you why. I am proceeding on
an important mission for the English Government. There is a party of
Austrian gentlemen pursuing me in a green motor-car, hoping to defeat
me. They know your country thoroughly, every pass and by-road; it used
to belong to Austria, as you know, and I think they would like to get
it again.”
The man let out an exclamation in Italian: there are no friends of
Austria in Italy!
“But I think that while you have your Alpine troops on the frontier,”
pursued Maurice, “the Austrians had better remain on their own side of
the Alps.”
“_Per Bacco!_ I agree with you, Monsieur. These Austrians are coming
behind you?”
“Yes. They have chased us from Paris. Perhaps when they arrive you
would suggest that we are proceeding to Venice?”
“Ah! I perceive. Yes, I will do so. You may pass without a certificate
if you will take the risk. But you should have a green light as well as
a white; it is the regulation.”
“We will get one to-morrow. We must take our chance to-night. What is
the speed-limit in Italy?”
“Forty kilometres in open country, Monsieur; twelve in town. At night,
fifteen.”
“Thank you.” George was smiling. Maurice thanked the official
profusely, and with mutual compliments the interview closed.
“Fifteen!” said George, as they set off again. “Fifteen be hanged!
we’ll do forty at the least,” and at that speed he set the car spinning
along the mountainous winding road that connects Modane with Turin.
There was little but the coolness of the air to tell them that they
were now crossing the Alps. It was too dark to see the form of Mont
Cenis towering above them, and even George felt a little regretful that
he could not get a glimpse of the mountains. They reached Turin soon
after eleven, and at the Hotel Europa did full justice to the excellent
repast with which they were provided at extraordinarily short notice.