At half-past eight that morning, the Lowland was in a side street, commanding the shapeless nave from which, as so many spokes, ran the south-bound roads: Audrey was in the Lowland, whose hood was up: and I was sitting outside a café, some forty or fifty yards off, pretending to read a paper, but really regarding the Lowland with all my might. A taxi was awaiting my pleasure, the width of the pavement away, and its driver knew where to go and was ready to move.
Disposed in just the same way as were Audrey and I, Bell and Rowley were watching the east-bound roads. This meant that Rowley and I were much further apart than I liked, and I would have given the world for a proper connecting-file: but beggars cannot be choosers – we were but four: and if our arrangements were clumsy, they were the best I could think of, and that is the honest truth.
So the four of us sat and waited – for a Swindon ‘sports saloon,’ bearing an English number and GB plate. Rowley, of course, had described it from bottom to top, but in fact we all knew it by sight, for, one by one, that morning we had viewed it where it was standing upon the quay.
Now why Plato kept us waiting, we never shall know: but he did not leave Dieppe till a quarter past nine. At that hour, with the tail of my eye, I saw the Swindon slide into and out of my view.
As I got to my feet, Audrey’s near-side direction indicator rose and fell – rose and fell twice over…to say that the Swindon had taken the Rouen road.
As the Lowland pulled out to follow, I flung myself into my taxi and cried to the driver in English to go like hell. But I think that he understood – or perhaps he saw the hundred-franc notes in my hand.
Now that I had to do it, it sent me half out of my mind to drive away from the chase: but somehow or other Bell and Rowley had to be fetched, and, as I have said, I had thought of no other way.
I must confess that my driver wasted no time, but fought his way through the traffic, as few would have dared to do, swinging and swerving and darting, as though he were out to win some obstacle race: for all that, it seemed an age before we took some corner, I think, upon only two wheels, and there was Rowley standing a hundred yards off. He saw me before I saw him, and had paid his taxi off before we were by. Then he turned to run for the Vane, beside which my taxi drew up…
And then we were both in the Vane, and Bell was driving like fury the way I had come.
The hunt was up.
Now it was of the utmost importance that I should take my place in the Lowland as soon as ever I could, for the Lowland was our first string, and Audrey at present was doing a double duty which Mansel himself, I think, would have sought to evade. In a word, she was observing and driving, too: and though that is easy enough when you are up in the air, it is very much harder to do when you are down on the road. But before I could take my place, we had to come up with the Lowland – and Audrey and Plato had had about six minutes’ start.
One terror, at least, I was spared – that, without our knowing it, they might have turned off the main road: but of that we had no fear, for Audrey had by her side a basket of phials of red paint, and it had been arranged between us that if she left the main road, she should drop a phial on to the surface to tell us where she had turned.
So we whipped up the Rouen road at eighty-five, Bell with his eyes on the distance and Rowley and I observing the mouths of the by-roads and straining our eyes for a tell-tale splash of red paint.
Then—
“There she is, sir,” said Bell. “Just the other side of that lorry. I saw her turn in.”
Half a mile ahead a lorry, going our way, was approaching a rise, and, as I looked, the Lowland rose up beyond it and into our view.
I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Well done, indeed,” said I. “And now there’s a switchback coming. Let’s try and run alongside in one of the dips.”
“Very good, sir.”
“When I’m gone, keep your eye on us. If I want you to pass, I’ll say so. If you lose us, make straight for Rouen and try the main roads out. But there’s not much fear of that, if you shift like this.”
“We didn’t ought to, sir; but you never know.” As we left the lorry standing – “I don’t see him yet, sir,” said Rowley.
“You will in a second,” said I. “He’s down in a dip.”
And so he was.
As the Lowland sank into the first of the switchback’s dales, the Swindon rose out of the last, six furlongs ahead.
Audrey had seen us coming.
As the Lowland sailed out of its dale, her hand went out, and when we had breasted the first of the switchback’s hills, there was the Lowland at rest in the second dale.
Bell ran alongside, and Rowley opened the doors. I was out and in in a flash.
“Goodbye, you two.”
“Good luck, sir.”
Audrey let in her clutch.
“Well done, my beauty,” said I.
“And you, St John. But listen. I think he’s going to turn off. He hesitated just now, but he didn’t like the look of the road.”
“Just in time,” said I. “If you’re right, he’ll turn at Paletot, a mile ahead. Not too fast round that bend: we can see it from there.”
We took the bend at thirty, to see the Swindon approaching the four cross roads.
Sure enough, the car slowed down and then turned to the right.
“Let her go,” said I, and signalled to Bell to stop.
“Let him see us go by. We needn’t follow him there.”
We overran the cross roads by a hundred and fifty yards.
As I flung out of the car—
“Tell the Vane to stand by,” I said, “but to keep out of sight. He’s got to take one of two roads – if he values his springs. But be ready in case he doubles, before I’ve time to get back.”
Two hundred yards away, a ruinous ivy-clad tower was commanding the stretch of country through which the Swindon must pass. I had proved it two or three times, and I knew it would serve my turn.
As Audrey backed into a farm-yard, to go about, I vaulted over a gate and ran for my precious view-point as hard as I could. Then I climbed its crumbling stair and settled myself at what was once an embrasure and now was a gap.
My binocular showed me the Swindon – approaching a sturdy plantation which grew upon rising ground. Though I could not see the road, I knew that, just short of the wood, the Swindon would have to turn to the right or the left: and once she had made her choice, I knew where she must come to and where we could pick her up.
I watched her comfortably. Except for a tumbril, the road behind her was bare. If Plato had had suspicions, they ought to be fading away.
The nearer she drew to the junction, the slower she went. Then she turned to the right very slowly and came to rest. A quarter of a minute later, the chauffeur’s head came out. Then the Swindon began to move back – past the mouth of the road she had left. And then she had switched to the right and was on her way back…
I was down the stair in a flash and was racing over the sward: but I need have had no concern, for when I came up to the gate, the Lowland was not to be seen, but Audrey was watching the cross roads from the opposite side of a wall.
“He’s coming back,” I panted. “You get back to the Lowland. I’ll take your place.”
I dared not show my head as the Swindon went by, but, as I was sure she would, she turned to the right – that is to say, she headed once more for Rouen, and that, without hesitation, after the way of a horse who means to go home.
I watched her swing round a bend…
Then Audrey drove out of the farm-yard, and twenty seconds later the Vane drew up alongside.
“Rouen for a monkey,” I said. “And Rouen will give him a chance of twisting our tail. When you see me take a taxi, pass the Lowland and don’t let me out of your sight.”
I saw Rowley touch his hat, and we were away.
Audrey drove like the wind till we sighted the Swindon again.
Then—
“I wish,” she
said, “you wouldn’t give me these shocks.”
“Sorry,” said I. “What shocks?”
“Wasting time talking like that. Supposing the swine had turned off.”
“Across country?” said I. “A Swindon’s an automobile – not a whippet tank.”
“You took a risk,” said Audrey. “You know you did. I’ll admit you’re doing wonders, but don’t be too clever by half.”
“I love you,” I said, “when you put your chin in the air. Never mind. Not quite so fast. We’re a shade too close. And now let’s get this straight. You talk of my taking risks: you might as well blame me for breathing fast when I run. This show is the purest gamble. Whenever we take a corner, we take a risk. And all we can hope to do is to choose the lesser evil or, if you like it better, to pick the right risk to take.”
“I reserve the right to say if I think you’re wrong.”
“Of course – if we’ve time to argue. Close up a little, will you? And fall in behind that van. I’ll be able to see him all right, but he won’t see us.” As she did as I said, “I wish I knew Rouen better,” I added, thinking aloud.
“That’s not my fault,” murmured Audrey.
I set my teeth.
“We’re both on edge,” said I. “And who wouldn’t be, by God? But don’t let’s throw any stones. It’ll break my heart if we lose him, but you shall have the pieces – to jump on and grind to dust.”
She made no answer to that, and we covered two miles in silence, using the van as a screen. But every mile was taking us nearer to Rouen, and I knew that if Plato meant business and his chauffeur knew how to drive, that ancient city would help him to shake us off. As I saw it, my only chance was to pick up a taxi at once and to follow the Swindon in that. But if no taxi was waiting, or if the driver was dull…
I wiped the sweat from my face and asked Audrey to pass the van.
“He’s stepping on it,” I said. “I wish I knew why. If it’s a ruse, he’ll stop round one of these bends. If he does, we shall have to go by, but I’ll try and stop Bell.”
But though that fear rode us both and made each bend a nightmare from that time on, the Swindon held on its way till it came to a road on the left that would take it to Neufchatel.
A coppice was masking this corner in such a way that, once a car had turned it, that car could not be seen from the road we were on – unless you stood still at the junction and so gave your business away. For that reason, no doubt, it found favour in Plato’s eyes, and the Swindon slowed up to take it, as if the man who was driving was sure of his way.
I gave my covert signal to Bell to stop, and, as before, we went by, without slackening speed.
As Audrey lifted her foot, some instinct showed me something I could not see.
“Go on,” I cried, with my eyes on the road behind. “Put your foot right down. As like as not, it’s a plant.”
I felt the Lowland leap forward…
Then I saw a man’s figure appear from the mouth of the Neufchatel road. He was looking after us – I could see the white of his face. Then he turned to look back towards Bell, and I found myself praying that the Vane was not to be seen. And then we dropped down a descent and out of his view.
“Stop her now,” I said.
Audrey pulled up all standing, and I flung out of the car.
“Stand by to turn round,” I cried, and ran for the crest of the hill.
The figure was gone now, but I had no means of knowing whether the Swindon would turn or would go on to Neufchatel. I hurled myself at the bank by the side of the road… And then I was in a hayfield which had been recently mown and was rising up to a ridge some fifty yards off.
Keeping an eye on the corner, I ran for the ridge as hard as ever I could. I reached it just in time. As I breasted the rise, I saw the Swindon below me heading for Neufchatel. Then she rounded an easy bend and passed out of my sight.
I waved to Audrey to turn and stumbled back to the road.
As I took my seat by her side—
“Neufchatel,” I said. “Hang at the corner a moment, for me to signal to Bell.”
But Bell had not waited for me. Rowley had done as I had. In fact he had climbed a tree – and so had seen the Swindon stealing a march. So, though I did not know it, I made my signal in vain, for Bell and Rowley were leading, and we were behind.
More than a minute went by before I saw them ahead. And when I did, I could hardly believe my eyes, because I had supposed that they were following us.
I think perhaps this may show how very hard was the thing we were trying to do, for Bell and Rowley had done as I had told them to do and had acted without instructions, rather than let our quarry make good his escape. Yet, by taking that action, they were running between my legs and very nearly upset the plan I had made.
I stifled an oath. Then—
“It’s not their fault,” I said, “but they’re going to tear everything up. Catch them somehow, Audrey. We’re going to turn off in a mile.”
My lady let the car go…
Then one of them saw us coming, and Bell slowed up to give way.
As we went by in silence—
“Slow right down,” I said, “and then take the first to the right.”
“He’s not turned off,” said Audrey, lifting her foot.
“I know,” said I. “But the road he’s on comes round in another twelve hundred yards. This is the old road, lady. We can watch him all the way and pick him up, if we like, just short of the town. But what I want to do is to get there first.”
“I see. Please tell me one thing. Was it a plant?”
“At the corner? Yes. The chauffeur walked back and took a careful look round. I’m sorry. I ought to have told you. But what with—”
“‘Don’t speak to the man at the wheel’ is a very good rule.”
“So,” said I, “is ‘Necessity knows no law.’ Slow down at that poplar, will you? I want to check up.”
Almost at once, I saw the Swindon below. To my relief, she was not moving very fast, and I shall always believe that the fox had thought he was being followed, but now believed he had given the hounds the slip.
“All’s well,” said I. “And now let her go, my beauty. If we’re to be there before him, we’ve got to shift.”
Then I signalled to Bell to close up, and away we went.
(The signals I made to Bell were as easy to make as to read, for I had five left-hand gloves, the palms of which we had painted different colours, as vivid as we could find. Since they were gardening gloves, it took no more than an instant to slip one on. Then all that I had to do was to drop my arm over the door and open my hand, keeping its back to the Swindon and showing its palm to the Vane.)
For the first time since leaving Dieppe I now had five or six minutes in which to survey the position and look ahead, and though to devote them to Audrey would have done me more good than her, I dared not squander the respite which Chance had thrown into my lap.
At once I saw that if, as I believed, Plato had left the main road to throw any car that was trailing him off the scent, it might be taken for granted that he was making for Rouen, but going by Neufchatel. In other words, he was simply fetching a compass which would carry him into the city from the north, instead of the west.
And something else I saw: and that was that if Plato believed that he had made good his escape, it was of the utmost importance that we should give him no reason to change his mind. Though we managed to hold him in Rouen, soon after leaving that city, we should almost certainly enter a country we did not know, and if Plato were then to resume his endeavours to shake us off, either they must be successful or else he would know for certain that we were following him.
Revolving these two conclusions, I decided, with great reluctance, to split our party in two and to send Bell and Rowley ahead; for unless, when we came to Rouen, a taxi was ready and waiting to take up the chase, we should have to close on the Swindon, to keep it in view, and that, of course, would set Plato thin
king again: but, if, when we came to Rouen, Rowley was in a taxi whose driver was only waiting to do as he said, and the taxi was lying in wait where the road from Neufchatel ran into the city’s streets, then the Vane could follow the taxi and we could follow the Vane, and Plato, with any luck, would see no cause for alarm.
Now all this was very well, but we were up against Time. We must be at Neufchatel before Plato arrived – if for no other reason, because the Vane must be gone before the Swindon came up. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ says the proverb, and a very true saying that is. Yet I had to give my instructions to Rowley and Bell: and that would take two full minutes – far more than we could afford.
With my eyes on the sunlit road, I savaged my under lip, racking my brain for some way of doing what could not be done.
And then I saw the solution, clear as the dawn. The Lowland must go on ahead, instead of the Vane, and Rowley must drive with Audrey, and I with Bell.
I could give my instructions to Audrey, here and now: then Rowley and I could change places – a matter of seconds only, if we were quick: and the Lowland could go on to Rouen, instead of the Vane.
My lady did not like it, but neither did I. There was no time to argue: and, what I found ten times worse, there was no time to explain.
As she brought the Lowland to rest and the Vane ran up alongside—
“Change places with me, Rowley.” I was standing beside her window, before he had taken his seat.
“Good luck, my darling. Till Rouen.”
But Audrey looked straight ahead and let in her clutch…
We ran into Neufchatel with sixty seconds to spare: but when the Swindon appeared, the Lowland was gone, the Vane was in a blind alley behind a cart, and I was across the street inside a small greengrocer’s shop.
For one unforgettable moment, it looked as though the Swindon was going to take a turning which led to the Beauvais road – a hideous gesture, which took a month from my life. Then the chauffeur saw his mistake, or his master put him right, and I watched him pull his car round with the sweat running down my face.
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