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I feared that Monsieur Charretier's sudden disappearance might upset the Turnours' plans, but Mr. Dane didn't think so. He had impressed it upon Sir Samuel that no motorist who had not thoroughly "done" Avignon and Vaucluse would be tolerated in automobiling circles.
I shouted something at him angrily as I approached, but he made no response. "Hullo! Are you asleep, sir?" said Forrest, as he put one foot on the step and grasped the silent motorist by the arm. There was no reply. I saw Forrest leave his hold on the stranger, and, stepping back into the road, draw his hand across his brow. "My God!" he muttered "What is it?" I asked.
He was speed-mad, like a motorist on a white and lonely road. Yet an ever-recurring dismay and distrust of the end kept coming to him. "But how did you come to find all this out? What happened after the rue de Sèvres?" "Oh, it was all easy and natural enough, if I could only put it into words. After a few days, when I was hungry and sick, I went to one of the English hotels.
Evidently hasty roadside interments were contingencies that had been provided against. "The digging of a sufficiently large grave took some little time. 'I say, what a magnificent fellow, said the motorist as the corpse was rolled over into the trench. 'I'm afraid he must have been rather a valuable animal. "'He took second in the puppy class at Birmingham last year, I said resolutely.
But that number-plate had thoughtfully masked itself in dust, so with all the will in the world he could work us no harm after our backs were turned. Once in a while it does seem as if Nature sympathized with the poor, maligned motorist whom nobody loves, and is willing to throw her protection over him.
An active man, in the usual driver's disguise of the modern motorist, jumped down, and at the same instant pushed his goggles up over the visor of his cap and loosened the collar of his wide coat, displaying the face of Constantino Logotheti. 'Oh, it's you, is it? Mr. Van Torp asked the wholly superfluous question in a displeased tone. 'How did you get in?
He was quite collected, and took no notice of the skies, or the spaces. He saw a man in rubbers placing his hand on a motor bicycle in the barricade, and called to him instantly: "Let that alone." The motorist did not at once remove his hand, whereupon the white-moustached man gripped his gun in both hands and ran violently towards him.
However, I have a private motto, "There is a way." There was. The only occupant of the waiting-room besides myself was a very dapper gentleman of what I should call lively middle age, with very upstanding gray mustaches. I took him to be a marooned motorist, also. He was well-dressed, with the added touch of an orange blossom in his button-hole, and he had a slightly roving eye.
Not the slightest sound of a misfire. Being an ardent motorist, I could tell that the engine was in perfect tune. The Captain leaned over and shouted to me through the roar to fasten the telephone receiver against my ear under my leather cap. "That," said he, pointing to a mouthpiece attached to a small rubber tube, "is the transmitter. If you want to give me any instructions shout into that.
Then, faint at first, but growing stronger every instant, there came from some point in the road far behind him a steady droning sound. He almost shouted with joy. A motor! Even now he might do it. But could he stop it? Would the motorist pay any attention to him, or would he flash past and leave him in the dust?
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