Your very loving PIERS.

My cousin showed us the letter with the artless confidence of a child.

Excepting herself, I don't think any one of us shared the writer's enthusiasm about Mr. Leslie Trunk. We quite agreed with Signer Vissochi. It was hard to believe that the man who had instituted such an iniquitous suit could so swiftly forgive the costly drubbing he had received, or, as heir-presumptive to the dukedom, honestly welcome the news of Piers' engagement. Sweetheart Jill, however, knew little of leopards and their spots. Out of respect for such unconsciousness, we held our peace. There was no hurry, and Piers could be tackled at our convenience....

The conversation turned to our impending departure from France.

"I take it," said Jonah, "that we go as we came. If we're going to Paris for the Grand Prix, there's not much object in stopping there now. In any event, it 'ld mean our going by train and sending the cars by sea. I'm not going to drive in Paris for anyone. I'm too old."

After a little discussion, we decided that he was right.

"Same route?" said Adele.

"I think so," said Jonah. "Except that we miss Bordeaux and go by Bergerac instead."

"Is that shorter or longer?" said Berry. "Not that I really care, because I wouldn't visit Bordeaux a second time for any earthly consideration. I've seen a good many poisonous places in my time, but for inducing the concentrated essence of depression, that moth-eaten spectre of bustling commerce has them, as the immortal B-B-B-Wordsworth says, beat to a b-b-b-string-bag."

"I don't seem to remember," said Daphne, "that it was so awful."

"It wasn't," said I. "But the circumstances in which he visited it were somewhat drab. Still, it's not an attractive town, and, as the other way's shorter and the road's about twice as good——"

"I'm glad it's shorter," said Berry. "I want to get to Angouleme in good time."

"Why?" said Jill.

Berry eyed her reproachfully.

"Child," he said, "is your gratitude so short-lived? Have you in six slight months forgotten that at Angouleme we were given the very finest dinner that ever we ate? A meal without frills—nine tender courses long? For which we paid the equivalent of rather less than five shillings a head?"

"Oh, I remember," said Jill. "That was where they made us use the same knife all through dinner."

"And what," demanded Berry, "of that? A conceit—a charming conceit. Thus was the glorious tradition of one course handed down to those that followed after. I tell you, that for me the idea of another 'crowded hour' in Angouleme goes far to ameliorate the unpleasant prospect of erupting into the middle of an English spring."

"It's clear," said I, "that you should do a gastronomic tour. Every department of France has its particular dainty. With a reliable list, an almanac, and a motor ambulance, you could do wonders."

My brother-in-law groaned.

"It wouldn't work," he said miserably. "It wouldn't work. They'd clash. When you were in Picardy, considering some pates de Canards, you'd get a wire from Savoy saying that the salmon trout were in the pink, and on the way there you'd get another from Gascony to say that in twenty-four hours they wouldn't answer for the flavour of the ortolans."

"Talking of gluttony," said Jonah, "if they don't bring lunch pretty soon, we shall be late. It's past one now, and the meeting's the other side of Morlaas. First race, two-fifteen."

I rose and strolled to the Club-house, to see the steward....

This day was the sixteenth of April, and Summer was coming in. Under our very eyes, plain, woods and foothills were putting on amain her lovely livery. We had played a full round of golf over a blowing valley we hardly knew. Billowy emerald banks masked the familiar sparkle of the hurrying Gave; the fine brown lace of rising woods had disappeared, and, in its stead, a broad hanging terrace of delicate green stood up against the sky; from being a jolly counterpane, the plain of Billere itself had become a cheerful quilt; as for the foot-hills, they were so monstrously tricked out with fine fresh ruffles and unexpected equipage of greenery, with a strange epaulet upon that shoulder and a brand-new periwig upon that brow, that if high hills but hopped outside the Psalter you would have sworn the snowy Pyrenees had found new equerries.

Luncheon was served indoors.

Throughout the winter the lawn before the Club-house had made a dining-room. To-day, however, we were glad of the shade.

"Does Piers know," said Adele, "that he's coming home with us?"

Jill shook her head.

"Not yet. I meant to tell him in my last letter, but I forgot." She turned to Daphne. "You don't think we could be married at once? I'm sure Piers wouldn't mind, and I'd be so much easier. He does want looking after, you know. Fancy his wanting to leave off that belt thing."

"Yes, just fancy," said Berry. "Apart from the fact that it was a present from you, it'd be indecent."

"It isn't that," said Jill. "But he might get an awful chill."

"I know," said Berry. "I know. That's my second point. Keep the abdominal wall quarter of an inch deep in lamb's wool, and in the hottest weather you'll never feel cold. Never mind. If he mentions it again, we'll make its retention a term of the marriage settlement."

Jill eyed him severely before proceeding.

"It could be quite quiet," she continued; "the wedding, I mean. At a registry place——"

"Mrs. Hunt's, for instance," said Berry.

"—and then we could all go down to White Ladies together, and when he has to go back to fix things up in Italy, I could go, too."

"My darling," said Daphne, "don't you want to be married from home? In our own old church at Bilberry? For only one thing, if you weren't, I don't think the village would ever get over it."

Jill sighed.

"When you talk like that," she said, "I don't want to be married at all.... Yes, I do. I want Piers. I wouldn't be happy without him. But... If only he hadn't got four estates of his own, we might——"

"Five," said Berry. Jill opened her big grey eyes. "Four now, and a share in another upon his wedding day."

Jill knitted her brow.

"I never knew this," she said. "What's the one he's going to have?"

Berry raised his eyebrows.

"It's a place in Hampshire," he said. "Not very far from Brooch. They call it White Ladies."

The look which Jill gave us, as we acclaimed his words, came straight out of Paradise.

"I do wish he could have heard you," she said uncertainly. "I'll tell him, of course. But it won't be the same. And my memory isn't short-lived really. I'd forgotten the Angouleme dinner, but I shan't forget this lunch in a hundred years."

"In another minute," said Berry, "I shall imbrue this omelet with tears. Then it'll be too salt." He seized his tumbler and raised it above his head. "I give you Monsieur Roland. May he touch the ground in spots this afternoon. Five times he's lent me an 'unter-'oss out of sheer good nature; his taste in cocktails is venerable; and whenever I see him he asks when we're going to use his car."

We drank the toast gladly.

Roland was a good sportsman, and throughout the season at Pau he had been more than friendly. He was to ride two races at the meeting this afternoon.

"And now," said I, "get a move on. St. Jammes is ten miles off, and the road is vile. If we'd got Roland's flier, it 'ld be one thing, but Ping and Pong'll take their own time."

My brother-in-law frowned.

"Business first," he said shortly. "Business first. I spoke to the steward about the cutlets, and I won't have them rushed. And if that's our Brie on the sideboard—well, I, too, am in a melting mood, and it's just asking for trouble."

There was a fresh breeze quickening the air upon the uplands beyond old Morlaas, to whip the flags into a steady flutter and now and again flick a dark tress of hair across Adele's dear cheeks.

As we scrambled across country—

"Why, oh, why," she wailed, "did ever I let it grow? I'll have it cut again to-morrow. I swear I will."

"And what about me?" said I. "You're a joint tenant with me. You can't commit waste like that without my consent."

"I'm sure I can abate—is that right?—a nuisance."

"It's not a nuisance. It's a glory. When I wake up in the morning and see it rippling all over the pillow, I plume myself upon my real and personal interest in such a beautiful estate. Then I start working out how many lockets it 'ld fill, and that sends me to sleep again."

"Does it really ripple?" said Adele. "Or is that a poet's licence?"

"Rather," said I. "Sometimes, if I'm half asleep, I feel quite seasick."

Adele smiled thoughtfully.

"In that case," she announced, "I'll reconsider my decision. But I wish to Heaven it 'ld ripple when I'm awake."

"They're off!" cried Jonah.

A sudden rush for the bank on which we were standing confirmed his report. We had much ado to escape being thrust into the deep lane the bank was walling.

The lane was about a mile long, and so was the bank. The latter made a fair "grand stand." As such it was packed. Not only all the visitors to Pau, but every single peasant for twenty miles about seemed to have rallied at St. Jammes to see the sport. The regular business of the race-course was conspicuously missing. Pleasure was strolling, cock of an empty walk. For sheer bonhomie, the little meeting bade fair to throw its elder brethren of the Hippodrome itself into the shadowy distance.

Roland rode a fine race and won by a neck.

We left the bank and walked up the lane to offer our congratulations.

"Thank you. Thank you. But nex' year you will bring horses, eh? An' we will ride against one another. Yes? You shall keep them with me. I 'ave plenty of boxes, you know. An' on the day I will give your horse his breakfast, and he shall give me the race. That's right. An' when are you going to try my tank? I go away for a week, an' when I come back yesterday, I ask my people, 'How has Captain Pleydell enjoyed the car?' 'But he 'as not used it.' 'No? Then that is because the Major has broken her up?' 'No. He has not been near.' I see now it is not good enough. I tell you I am hurt. I shall not ask you again."

"Lunch with us to-morrow instead," laughed Daphne

"I am sure that I will," said Roland.

After a little we sauntered back to our bank....

It was nearly a quarter to five by the time we were home. That was early enough, but the girls had grown tired of standing, and we had seen Roland win twice. Jonah we had left to come in another car. This was because he had found a brother-fisherman. When last we saw him, he had a pipe in one hand, a lighted match in the other, and was discussing casts....

Falcon met us at the door with a telegram addressed to 'Miss Mansel.'

The wording was short and to the point.

Have met with accident can you come Piers Paris.

The next train to Paris left Pau in twelve minutes time.

Adele and a white-faced Jill caught it by the skin of their teeth.

They had their tickets, the clothes they stood up in, a brace of vanity bags, and one hundred and forty-five francs. But that was all. It was arranged feverishly upon the platform that Jonah and I should follow, with such of their effects as Daphne gave us, by the ten-thirty train.

Then a horn brayed, I kissed Adele's fingers, poor Jill threw me a ghost of a smile, and their coach rolled slowly out of the station....

I returned to the car dazedly.

Thinking it over, I decided that we had done the best we could. On arrival at Bordeaux, my wife and cousin could join the Spanish express, which was due to leave that city at ten-fifteen; this, if it ran to time, would bring them to the French capital by seven o'clock the next morning. Jonah and I would arrive some five hours later....

The Bank was closed, of course, so I drove to the Club forthwith to get some money. Jonah was not there, but, as he was certain to call, I left a note with the porter, telling him what had occurred. Then I purchased our tickets—a lengthy business. It was so lengthy, in fact, that when it was over I called again at the Club on the chance of picking up Jonah and bringing him home. He had not arrived....

I made my way back to the villa dismally enough.

My sister and Berry were in the drawing-room.

As I opened the door—

"Wherever have you been?" said Daphne. "Did they catch it?"

I nodded.

"You haven't seen Jonah, I suppose?"

I shook my head.

"But where have you been, Boy?"

I spread out my hands.

"Getting money and tickets. You know their idea of haste. But there's plenty of time—worse luck," I added bitterly. Then: "I say, what a dreadful business!" I sank into a chair. "What on earth can have happened?"

Berry rose and walked to a window.

"Jill's face," he said slowly. "Jill's face." He swung round and flung out an arm. "She looked old!" he cried. "Jill—that baby looked old. She thought it was a wire to say he was on his way, and it hit her between the eyes like the kick of a horse."

Shrunk into a corner of her chair, my sister stared dully before her.

"He must be bad," said I. "Unless he was bad, he 'ld never have wired like that. If Piers could have done it, I'm sure he 'ld have tempered the wind."

"'Can you come?'" quoted Berry, and threw up his arms.

Daphne began to cry quietly....

A glance at the tea-things showed me that these were untouched. I rang the bell, and pleasantly fresh tea was brought. I made my sister drink, and poured some for Berry and me. The stimulant did us all good. By common consent, we thrust speculation aside and made what arrangements we could. That our plans for returning to England would now miscarry seemed highly probable.

At last my sister sighed and lay back in her chair.

"Why?" she said quietly. "Why? What has Jill done to earn this? Oh, I know it's no good questioning Fate, but it's—it's rather hard."

I stepped to her side and took her hand in mine.

"My darling," I said, "don't let's make the worst of a bad business. The going's heavy, I know, but it's idle to curse the jumps before we've seen them. Piers didn't send that wire himself. That goes without saying. He probably never worded it. I know that's as broad as it's long, but, when you come to think, there's really no reason on earth why it should be anything more than a broken leg."

There was a dubious silence.

At length—

"Boy's perfectly right," said Berry. "Jill's scared stiff—naturally. As for us, we're rattled—without good reason at all. For all we know...."

He broke off to listen.... The front door closed with a crash.

"Jonah," said I. "He's had my note, and——"

It was not Jonah.

It was Piers, Duke of Padua, who burst into the room, looking extraordinarily healthy and very much out of breath.

We stared at him, speechless.

For a moment he stood smiling. Then he swept Daphne a bow.

"Paris to Pau by air," he said, "in four and a quarter hours. Think of it. Clean across France in a bit of an afternoon. You'll all have to do it: it's simply glorious." He crossed to my sister's side and kissed her hand. "Don't look so surprised," he said, laughing. "It really is me. I didn't dare to wire, in case we broke down on the way. And now where's Jill?"

We continued to stare at him in silence.

* * * * *

It was Berry—some ten minutes later—who hit the right nail on the head.

"By George!" he shouted. "By George! I've got it in one. The fellow who sent that wire was Leslie Trunk."

"Leslie?" cried Piers. "But why——"

"Who knows? But your cousin's a desperate man, and Jill's in his way. So are you—more still, but, short of murder itself, to touch you won't help his case. With Jill in his hands.... Well, for one thing only, I take it you'd pay pretty high for her—her health."

Piers went very white.

For myself, I strove to keep my brain steady, but the thought of Adele—my wife, in the power of the dog, would thrust itself, grinning horribly, into the foreground of my imagination.

I heard somebody say that the hour was a quarter past seven. I had my watch in my hand, so I knew they were right. Vainly they repeated their statement, unconsciously voicing my thoughts....

Only when Daphne fell on her knees by my side did I realise that I was the speaker.

Berry and Piers were at the telephone.

I heard them.

"Ask for the Bordeaux Exchange. Burn it, why can't I talk French? Do as I say, lad. Don't argue. Ask for the Bordeaux Exchange. Insist that it's urgent—a matter of life and death."

Piers began to speak—shakily.

"Yes. The Bordeaux Exchange.... It's most urgent, Mademoiselle.... A matter of life and death.... Yes, yes. The Exchange itself.... What? My God! But, Mademoiselle——"

A sudden rude thresh of the bell announced that his call was over.

Berry fell upon the instrument with an oath.

"It's no good!" cried Piers. "It's no good. She says the line to Bordeaux is out of order."

My sister lifted her head and looked into my face.

"Can you do it by car?" she said.

I pulled myself together and thought very fast.

"We can try," I said, rising, "but—— Oh, it's a hopeless chance. Only three hours—less than three hours for a hundred and fifty miles. It can't be done. We'd have to do over seventy most of the way, and you can't beat a pace like that out of Ping and Pong. On the track, perhaps.... But on the open road——"

The soft slush of tires upon the drive cut short my sentence.

"Jonah, at last," breathed Daphne.

We ran to the window.

It was not Jonah.

It was Roland.

So soon as he saw us, he stopped and threw out his clutch.

"I say, you know, I am mos' distress' about your lunch to-morrow. When you ask me——"

"Roland," I cried, "Roland, will you lend me your car?"

"But 'ave I not said——"

"Now—at once—here—to drive to Bordeaux?"

Roland looked up at my face.

The next moment he was out of his seat.

"Yes, but I am not going with you," he said. Then: "What is the matter? Never mind. You will tell me after. The lights are good, and she is full up with gasolene. I tell you, you will be there in three hours."

"Make it two and three-quarters," said I.

* * * * *

The day's traffic had dwindled to a handful of home-going gigs, and as we swung out of the Rue Montpensier and on to the Bordeaux road, a distant solitary tram was the only vehicle within sight.

I settled down in my seat....

A moment later we had passed the Octroi, and Pau was behind us.

Piers crouched beside me as though he were carved of stone. Once in a while his eyes would fall from the road to the instrument-board. Except for that regular movement, he gave no sign of life. As for Berry, sunk, papoose-like, in the chauffeur's cockpit in rear, I hoped that his airman's cap would stand him in stead....

The light was good, and would serve us for half an hour. The car was pulling like the mares of Diomedes. As we flung by the last of the villas, I gave her her head....

Instantly the long straight road presented a bend, and I eased her up with a frown. We took the corner at fifty, the car holding the road as though this were banked for speed. As we flashed by the desolate race-course and the ground on which Piers had alighted two hours before, I lifted a grateful head. It was clear that what corners we met could be counted out. With such a grip of the road and such acceleration, the time which anything short of a hairpin bend would cost us was almost negligible.

As if annoyed at my finding, the road for the next five miles ran straight as a die. For over three of those miles the lady whose lap we sat in was moving at eighty-four.

A hill appeared—a long, long hill, steep, straight, yellow—tearing towards us.... We climbed with the rush of a lift—too fast for our stomachs.

The road was improving now, but, as if to cancel this, a steep, winding hill fell into a sudden valley. As we were dropping, I saw its grey-brown fellow upon the opposite side, dragging his tedious way to the height we had left.

We lost time badly here, for down on the flat of the dale a giant lorry was turning, while a waggon was creeping by. For a quarter of a precious minute the road was entirely blocked. Because of the coming ascent the check hit us hard. In a word, it made a mountain out of a molehill. What the car might have swallowed whole she had to masticate. She ate her way up the rise, snorting with indignation....

A mile (or a minute, Sirs, whichever you please) was all the grace she had to find her temper. Then the deuce of a hill swerved down to the foot of another—long, blind, sinuous. The road was writhing like a serpent. We used it as serpents should be used. Maybe it bruised our heels: we bruised its head savagely....

We were on the level now, and the way was straight again. A dot ahead was a waggon. I wondered which way it was going. I saw, and we passed it by in the same single moment of time. That I may not be thought inobservant, forty-five yards a second is a pace which embarrasses sight.

A car came flying towards us. At the last I remarked with a smile it was going our way. A flash of paint, a smack like the flap of a sail, and we were by.

A farm was coming. I saw the white of its walls swelling to ells from inches. I saw a hen, who had seen us, starting to cross our path. Simultaneously I lamented her death—needlessly. She missed destruction by yards. I found myself wondering whether, after all, she had held on her way. Presently I decided that she had and, anxious to retrace her steps, had probably awaited our passage in some annoyance....

We swam up another hill, flicked between two waggons, slashed a village in half and tore up the open road.

The daylight was waning now, and Piers switched on the hooded light that illumined the instrument-board. With a frown I collected my lady for one last tremendous effort before the darkness fell.

She responded like the thoroughbred she was.

I dared not glance at the speedometer, but I could feel each mile as it added itself to our pace. I felt this climb from ninety to ninety-one. Thickening the spark by a fraction, I brought it to ninety-two ... ninety-three.... In a quiet, steady voice, Piers began to give me the benefit of his sight.

"Something ahead on the right ... a waggon ... all clear ... cart, I think, on the right ... no—yes. It's not moving.... A bicycle on the left ... and another ... a car coming ... all clear ... no—a man walking on the right ... all clear...."

So, our narrowed eyes nailed to the straight grey ribbon streaming into the distance, the sea and the waves roaring in our ears, folded in the wings of the wind, we cheated Dusk of seven breathless miles and sent Nature packing with a fork in her breech.

Sore at this treatment, the Dame, as ever, returned, with Night himself to urge her argument.

I threw in my hand with a sigh, and Piers switched on the lights as we ran into Aire-sur-l'Adour.

I heard a clock striking as we swung to the left in the town....

Eight o'clock.

Two more hours and a quarter, and a hundred and nineteen miles to go.

I tried not to lose heart....

We had passed Villeneuve-de-Marsan, and were nearing, I knew, cross-roads, when Piers forestalled my inquiry and spoke in my ear.

"Which shall you do? Go straight? Or take the forest road?"

"I don't know the Roquefort way, except that there's pavement there. What's it like?"

"It's pretty bad," said Piers. "But you'll save about fifteen miles."

"How much pavement is there? Five or six miles?"

"Thirty about," said Piers.

"Thanks very much," said I. "We'll go by the forest."

I think I was right.

I knew the forest road and I knew its surface was superb. Thirty miles of pavement, which I did not know, which was admittedly rough, presented a ghastly prospect. The 'luxury' tax of fifteen precious miles, tacked on to the way of the forest, was really frightening, but since such a little matter as a broken lamp would kill our chances, I dared not risk the rough and tumble of the pavement upon the Roquefort road.

At last the cross-roads came, and we swung to the right. We had covered a third of the ground.

I glanced at the gleaming clock sunk in the dash.

Twenty-five minutes past eight.

An hour and fifty minutes—and a hundred miles to go.

With a frightful shock I realised that, even with the daylight to help me, I had used a third of my time.

I began to wish frantically that I had gone by Roquefort. I felt a wild inclination to stop and retrace my steps. Pavement? Pavement be burned. I must have been mad to throw away fifteen miles—fifteen golden miles....

Adele's face, pale, frightened, accusing, stared at me through the wind-screen. Over her shoulder, Jill, white and shrinking, pointed a shaking finger.

With a groan, I jammed my foot on the accelerator....

With a roar, the car sprang forward like a spurred horse.

Heaven knows the speed at which St. Justin was passed. I was beyond caring. We missed a figure by inches and a cart by a foot. Then the cottages faded, and the long snarl of the engine sank to the stormy mutter she kept for the open road.

We were in the forest now, and I let her go.

Out of the memories of that April evening our progress through the forest stands like a chapter of a dream.

Below us, the tapering road, paler than ever—on either side an endless army of fir trees, towering shoulder to shoulder, so dark, so vast, and standing still as Death—above us, a lane of violet, all pricked with burning stars, we supped the rare old ale brewed by Hans Andersen himself.

Within this magic zone the throb of the engine, the hiss of the carburettor, the swift brush of the tires upon the road—three rousing tones, yielding a thunderous chord, were curiously staccato. The velvet veil of silence we rent in twain; but as we tore it, the folds fell back to hang like mighty curtains about our path, stifling all echo, striking reverberation dumb. The strong, sweet smell of the woods enhanced the mystery. The cool, clean air thrashed us with perfume....

The lights of the car were powerful and focussed perfectly. The steady, bright splash upon the road, one hundred yards ahead, robbed the night of its sting.

Rabbits rocketed across our bows; a bat spilled its brains upon our wind-screen; a hare led us for an instant, only to flash to safety under our very wheels. As for the moths, the screen was strewn with the dead. Three times Piers had to rise and wipe it clear.

Of men and beasts, mercifully, we saw no sign.

If Houeilles knew of our passage, her ears told her. Seemingly the hamlet slept. I doubt if we took four seconds to thread its one straight street. Next day, I suppose, men swore the devil was loose. They may be forgiven. Looking back from a hazy distance, I think he was at my arm.

As we ran into Casteljaloux, a clock was striking....

Nine o'clock.

We had covered the thirty-five miles in thirty-five minutes dead.

"To the left, you know," said Piers.

"Left?" I cried, setting a foot on the brake. "Straight on, surely. We turn to the left at Marmande."

"No, no, no. We don't touch Marmande. We turn to the left here." I swung round obediently. "This is the Langon road. It's quite all right, and it saves us about ten miles."

Ten miles.

I could have screamed for joy.

Only fifty-five miles to go—and an hour and a quarter left.

The hope which had never died lifted up its head....

It was when we were nearing Auros that we sighted the van.

This was a hooded horror—a great, two-ton affair, a creature, I imagine, of Bordeaux, blinding home like a mad thing, instead of blundering.

Ah, I see a hundred fingers pointing to the beam in my eye. Bear with me, gentlemen. I am not so sightless as all that.

I could steer my car with two fingers upon the roughest road. I could bring her up, all standing, in twice her length. My lights, as you know, made darkness a thing of nought.... I cannot answer for its headlights, nor for its brake-control, but the backlash in the steering of that two-ton van was terrible to behold.

Hurling itself along at thirty odd miles an hour, the vehicle rocked and swung all over the narrow surface—now lurching to the right, now plunging to the left, but, in the main, holding a wobbling course upon the crown of the road—to my distraction.

Here was trouble enough, but—what was worse—upon my sounding the horn, the driver refused to give way. He knew of my presence, of course. He heard me, he saw my headlights, and—he sought to increase his pace....

I sounded the horn till it failed: I yelled till my throat was sore: Piers raged and howled: behind, I heard Berry bellowing like a fiend.... I cursed and chafed till the sweat of baffled fury ran into my eyes....

For over five hideous miles I followed that bucketing van.

I tried to pass it once, but the brute who was driving swerved to the left—I believe on purpose—and only our four-wheel brakes averted a headline smash.

At that moment we might not have been on earth.

My lady stopped as a bird stops in its flight. With the sudden heave of a ship, she seemed to hang in the air. Wild as I was, I could not but marvel at her grace....

Out of the check came wisdom.

It was safe, then, to keep very close.

I crept to the blackguard's heels, till our headlights made two rings upon his vile body.

With one foot on the step, Piers hung out of the car, watching the road beyond.

Suddenly the van tilted to the right....

I knew a swerve must follow, if the driver would keep his balance.

As it came, I pulled out and crammed by, with my heart in my mouth....

A glance at the clock made me feel sick to death.

Fifteen priceless minutes that van had stolen out of my hard-earned hoard. I had risked our lives a score of times to win each one of them. And now an ill-natured churl had flung them into the draught....

I set my teeth and put the car at a hill at eighty-five....

We flashed through Langon at twenty minutes to ten.

Thirty-five minutes left—and thirty miles to go.

We were on the main road now, and the surface was wide, if rough. What little traffic there was, left plenty of room.

I took the ashes of my caution and flung them to the winds.

Piers told me afterwards that for the first twenty miles never once did the speedometer's needle fall below seventy-two. He may be right. I knew that the streets were coming, and the station had to be found. It was a question, in fact, of stealing time. That which we had already was not enough. Unless we could pick some out of the pocket of Providence, the game was up.

I had to slow down at last for a parcel of stones. The road was being re-made, and thirty yards of rubble had to be delicately trod. As we forged through the ruck at twenty, Piers stared at the side of the road.

"BORDEAUX 16," he quoted.

Ten more miles—and nineteen minutes to go.

The traffic was growing now with every furlong. Belated lorries rumbled about their business: cars panted and raved into the night: carts jolted out of turnings into the great main road.

When I think of the chances I took, the palms of my hands grow hot. To wait for others to grant my request for room was out of the question. I said I was coming.... I came—and that was that. Times out of number I overtook vehicles upon the wrong side. As for the frequent turnings, I hoped for the best....

Once, where four ways met, I thought we were done.

A car was coming across—I could see its headlights' beam. I opened the throttle wide, and we raced for the closing gap. As we came to the cross of the roads, I heard an engine's roar.... For an instant a searchlight raked us.... There was a cry from Berry ... an answering shout ... the noise of tires tearing at the road ... and that was all.

A moment later I was picking my way between two labouring waggons and a trio of straggling carts.

"BORDEAUX 8," quoted Piers.

Five more miles—and eleven minutes to go.

Piers had the plan of the city upon his knees. He conned it as best he could by the glow of the hooded light. After a moment or two he thrust the book away.

"The station's this end of the town. We can't miss it. I'll tell you when to turn."

Three minutes more, and our road had become a street. Two parallel, glittering lines warned me of trams to come.

As if to confirm their news, a red orb in the distance was eyeing us angrily....

"We turn to the right," said Piers. "I'll tell you when."

I glanced at the clock.

The hour was nine minutes past ten.

My teeth began to chatter of sheer excitement....

There was a turning ahead, and I glanced at Piers.

"Not yet," he said.

With a frantic eye on the clock, I thrust up that awful road. The traffic seemed to combine to cramp my style. I swerved, I cut in, I stole an odd yard, I shouldered other drivers aside, and once, confronted with a block, I whipped on to the broad pavement and, amid scandalised shouts, left the obstruction to stay less urgent business.

All the time I could see the relentless minute-hand beating me on the post....

At last Piers gave the word, and I switched to the right.

The boulevard was empty. We just swept up it like a black squall.

Left and right, then, and we entered the straight—with thirty seconds to go.

"Some way up," breathed Piers.

I set my teeth hard and let my lady out....

By the time I had sighted the station, the speedometer's needle had swung to seventy-three....

I ran alongside the pavement, clapped on the brakes, threw out the clutch.

Piers switched off, and we flung ourselves out of the car.

Stiff as a sleepy hare, I stumbled into the hall.

"Le train pour Paris!" I shouted. "Ou est le train pour Paris?"

"This way!" cried Piers, passing me like a stag.

I continued to shout ridiculously, running behind him.

I saw him come to a barrier ... ask and be answered.... try to push through....

The officials sought to detain him.

A whistle screamed....

With a roar I flung aside the protesting arms and carrying Piers with me, floundered on to the platform.

A train was moving.

Feeling curiously weak-kneed, I got carefully upon the step of a passing coach. Piers stepped on behind me and thrust me up to the door.

Then a conductor came and hauled us inside.

* * * * *

I opened my eyes to see Adele's face six inches away.

"Better, old chap," she said gently.

I tried to sit up, but she set a hand upon my chest.

"Don't say I fainted?" I said.

She smiled and nodded.

"But I understand," she said, "that you have a wonderful excuse."

"Not for ser-wooning," said I. "Of course we did hurry, but...."

Piers burst in excitedly.

"There isn't another driver in all——"

"Rot," said I. "Jonah would have done it with a quarter of an hour to spare."

So he would.

My cousin would have walked to the train and had a drink into the bargain.

* * * * *

While the train thundered northward through a drowsy world, a council of five sat up in a salon lit and laid its plans. By far its most valuable member was Senor Don Fedriani, travelling by chance from Biarritz to the French capital....

It was, indeed, in response to his telegram from Poitiers that, a few minutes before seven o'clock the next morning, two detectives boarded our train at the Gare Austerlitz.

Five minutes later we steamed into the Quai d'Orsay.

Jill, carefully primed, was the first to alight.

Except for Piers, Duke of Padua, the rest of us followed as ordinary passengers would. It was, of course, plain that we had no connection with Jill....

That Mr. Leslie Trunk should meet her himself was quite in order. That, having thus put his neck into the noose, he should proceed to adjust the rope about his dew-lap, argued an unexpected generosity.

'Yes, he had sent the wire. He had taken that responsibility. How was Piers? Well, there was plenty of hope.' He patted her delicate hand. 'She must be brave, of course.... Yes, he had just left him. He was in a nursing-home—crazy to see her. They would go there at once.'

We all went 'there' at once—including Piers, Duke of Padua.

Mr. Leslie Trunk, Senor Don Fedriani, and the two police-officers shared the same taxi.

'There' we were joined by Mrs. Trunk.

The meeting was not cordial, neither was the house a nursing-home. I do not know what it was. A glance at the proportions of the blackamoor who opened the door suggested that it was a bastile.

* * * * *

It was thirty hours later that Berry pushed back his chair.

It was a glorious day, and, viewed from the verandah of the Club-house, that smiling pleasaunce, the rolling plain of Billere was beckoning more genially than ever.

So soon as our luncheon had settled, we were to prove its promise for the last time.

"Yes," said Berry, "puerile as it may seem, I assumed you were coming back. My assumption was so definite that I didn't even get out. For one thing, Death seemed very near, and the close similarity which the slot I was occupying bore to a coffin, had all along been too suggestive to be ignored. Secondly, from my coign of vantage I had a most lovely view of the pavement outside the station. I never remember refuse looking so superb....

"Well, I don't know how long I waited, but when it seemed certain that you were—er—detained, I emerged from my shell. I didn't like leaving the car unattended, but as there wasn't a lock, I didn't know what to do. Then I remembered that just as the beaver, when pursued, jettisons some one of its organs—I forget which—and thus evades capture, so the careful mechanic removes some vital portion of his engine to thwart the unauthorised. I had a vague idea that the part in question was of, with, or from the magneto. I had not even a vague idea that the latter was protected by a network of live wires, and that one had only to stretch out one's finger to induce a spark about a foot long and a shock from which one will never wholly recover.... I reeled into the station, hoping against hope that somebody would be fool enough to steal the swine....

"Yes, the buffet was closed. Of such is the city of Bordeaux.... When I recovered consciousness I sought for you two. I asked several officials if they had seen two gentlemen. Some walked away as if nettled: others adopted the soothing attitude one keeps for the inebriated. Upon reflection, I don't blame them. I had a weak case....

"At last I returned to the car. Alas, it was still there. I then had recourse to what is known as 'the process of exhaustion.' In fact, I found it extremely useful. By means of that process I was eventually successful in starting the engine, and, in the same elementary way, I got into top gear. I drew out of that yard with a running backfire nearly blowing me out of my seat.

"Well, the general idea was to find a garage. The special one was to hear what people said when I stopped to ask them the way. The fourth one I asked was a chauffeur. Under his direction, one first of all reduced the blinding stammer of the exhaust to an impressive but respectable roar, and then proceeded in his company to a dairy, a garage, another dairy and a hotel—in that order. I gave that chap a skinful and fifty francs....

"Yesterday I drove home. I can prove it. All through the trams, like a two-year-old. I admit I took over six hours, but I lunched on the way. I trust that two of the poultry I met are now in Paradise. Indeed, I see no reason to suspect the contrary. So far as I could observe, they looked good, upright fowls. And I look forward confidently to an opportunity of apologising to them for their untimely translation. They were running it rather fine, and out of pure courtesy I set my foot positively upon the brake. Unfortunately, it wasn't the brake, but the accelerator.... My recollection of the next forty seconds is more than hazy. There is, so to speak, a hiatus in my memory—some two miles long. This was partly due to the force with which the back of the front seat hit me in the small of the back. Talk about a blue streak.... Oh, it's a marvellous machine—very quick in the uptake. Give her an inch, and she'll take a hell of a lot of stopping. However...."

"Have you seen Roland?" I said.

"Yes. He dined last night. I told him you'd broken down his beauty and that I had administered the coup de grace. He quite believed it."

"What did he say?" said Adele.

"Since you ask me," said Berry, "I'll give you his very words. I think you'll value them. 'I tell you,' he said, 'I am very proud. You say she is done. Well, then, there are other cars in the usine. But she has saved something which no one can buy in the world—the light in a lady's eyes.'"

There are things in France, besides sunshine, which are not for sale.



THE END



BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Published by

WARD, LOCK AND CO., LTD.

BERRY AND CO. JONAH AND CO. ADELE AND CO. AND BERRY CAME TOO ANTHONY LYVEDEN VALERIE FRENCH THE BROTHER OF DAPHNE THE COURTS OF IDLENESS AND FIVE WERE FOOLISH AS OTHER MEN ARE THE STOLEN MARCH MAIDEN STAKES BLIND CORNER PERISHABLE GOODS BLOOD ROYAL FIRE BELOW SAFE CUSTODY STORM MUSIC SHE FELL AMONG THIEVES SHE PAINTED HER FACE THIS PUBLICAN GALE WARNING SHOAL WATER PERIOD STUFF AN EYE FOR A TOOTH