Gale Warning (13 page)

Since the train had not yet gone by, we took in a gallon of petrol for the good of the house, and then, whilst I watched the road, she held the attendant in talk until the Swindon appeared. When I was sure they could see us, I gave her the order to go, and we took up our old position, as though by accident.

That was but one of the narrow escapes which we had, for though I must frankly admit that Plato played into our hands, we dared take nothing for granted and had to work just as hard and to think as fast as we had done that morning when first we had left Dieppe. I shall always believe that we actually guided the Swindon through more than one town, but though, from this distance of time, I am able to focus the humour of this absurdity, I never felt less like laughing than when it in fact took place.

I never can say how wonderful Audrey was. The whole of that afternoon, she not only never failed me, but picked up the cues I tossed her as though she had read my mind. More than once she had served my turn before I had said what it was, and she actually made me eat, getting the sandwiches ready, whilst she was sitting still, and handing them, whilst she was driving, with such a casual air that I took and began to eat them without thinking what I did. In fact, though I never spared her, she did her best to spare me – and she comforted me in the most understanding of ways, if ever I gave her to think that I was in some distress.

There, perhaps, I am giving myself away, for I never saw Mansel or Chandos show any sign of strain. But I know there were times that day when I drifted from speaking to her into thinking aloud, and my thoughts were not always as cheerful as I could have wished. Each
contretemps
that we met with rammed home the brutal fact that luck alone had brought us to where we had come, and seemed designed to argue the manifold changes and chances of such a venture as ours. One error of judgment could put as out of the running: one guess that was wrong could sink us for good and all. And France is a pretty big country: and more than two thirds of her acres lie south of Chartres.

For some extraordinary reason, for which I can never account, both Audrey and I were quite certain that Plato would spend that night at the city of Chartres.

But whether he did or did not, he would have, she said, to enter the
Place des Epars
, for there stood the best hotels and from that oval the principal roads ran forth.

“He must see us stop, too,” said I. “If you circle the
place
can he see us ? I don’t want him up too close.”

“From what I remember, it’s spacious: with a very good view all round.”

“Then go round slowly,” said I, “as if you were taking stock. Where’s that hotel you lunched at?”

“
Le Grand Monarque?
On the right – on the side we come in.”

“Steady. I don’t see him yet.” The Lowland slowed down. “Yes. There he is. Carry on. I hope to God the Vane isn’t right on his heels. And yet I don’t know. If she isn’t, she’ll go right on, not knowing he’s stopped. I’ve got to this – that I don’t know what to hope for…except an earthquake or something, to slow things up.”

“Poor St John. You must be so frightfully tired.”

“It’s the pace that kills,” said I. “I only want time to think. A little faster, my beauty: he’s coming up.”

“We’ll be in the
place
in a minute, and that’ll give you a chance.”

A moment later, we entered the
Place des Epars
and, glancing over my shoulder, I saw the truth of her words. The
place
was a great arena, the whole of which could be seen from wherever you took your stand.

We passed
Le Grand Monarque
and swung to the left. Then we circled slowly, to see what the Swindon did.

With the width of the oval between us, we saw her extremely well.

She passed
Le Grand Monarque,
but she did not swing to the left.

She took the Vendôme road – and passed out of our sight.

As things turned out, I think our dismay was misplaced, for Plato must have seen us turn off to the left, and to stop for a drink at Chartres was natural on such a day. In his eyes, therefore, we did as a tourist does; and though we overtook him some twelve miles on, I doubt if he saw more in this than a friendly rivalry. Then, again, I was able to intercept Rowley and Bell – and to tell them to take any risk but that of arousing suspicion by keeping too close. But I had been so certain that Plato would stop at Chartres that I felt I could never again rely on what instinct I had. And I could have spared that feeling at that particular time, for all we had was my instinct to get us home.

I sent on Bell and Rowley the way the Swindon had gone. Then I waited for two more minutes – to colour the illusion that Audrey had stopped for refreshment and taken her time. And then we swung out of the place for the Vendôme road.

Châteaudun…Vendôme…Tours…

There are times when I dream of that stretch – eighty-six miles long.

For seventy-four of those miles we ran in front of the Swindon, as we had done to Chartres.

Three times we thought we had lost her, and twice the tears were running on Audrey’s cheeks.

As she brushed them away—

“Sorry, St John. These women. But take no notice, my dear. It’s only my safety-valve.”

I put my arm about her and held her close. Then I called upon her again, as one calls on a thoroughbred: and she responded at once, as a thoroughbred does.

And so we came to Tours – at twenty-five minutes past six.

And there the Swindon stopped – at the best hotel. I saw Plato enter the house: and his chauffeur drive round to the garage and put the Swindon away.

And when I saw this happen, I very near wept myself – and that, out of sheer relief, for to ask any more of Audrey was more than I could have done, and I was so much exhausted that I could hardly stand up.

By seven o’clock that evening, we had, in a manner of speaking, consolidated our gains.

We were, all four, installed at a little hotel. Audrey, too tired to bathe, was lying full length on her bed, with her shoes and stockings off and her beautiful arms stretched out: Bell was going over the cars in the yard below: three hundred yards away, Rowley was watching the garage in which the Swindon was lodged: and I was speaking to Mansel, two hundred and thirty miles off.

“Tours? I can’t believe it. By God, John Bagot, you’ve lighted a candle this day. And you’re at the
Panier d’Or
. Well, don’t let up, old fellow. Chandos and I are coming, and then you shall take your rest.”

I was glad to hear him say that. I had made what arrangements I could: but if Plato saw fit to go on, we were not fit to follow – and that is the truth.

Audrey was out of the running – until she had had some rest. The drive itself was nothing – many a day we had covered far more than three hundred miles; but it must be remembered that she had been up all night, and the constant stopping and starting and changing gear, the spurting and slowing down, the effort of picking her way through towns which she did not know, above all, the ceaseless strain of being ever ready to do whatever I said and sharing with me a burden which was not hers – these things had conspired together to wear her resistance down. In fact, they had failed of their purpose. But now she had surrendered, because the danger was past.

The duty was, therefore, divided between the servants and me. One must watch the garage in which the Swindon stood – and be ready to run for his life to the
Panier d’Or
: one must be with the Vane, all ready to leave the yard and resume the chase: and the third could be off duty, taking his ease. Four hours on and two off seemed the obvious way. Two hours by the Swindon’s garage: two in the yard with the Vane: and two at the
Panier d’Or.

I took my two hours off until nine o’clock. I bathed and I changed my clothes and I broke my fast – and I sat in a chair beside Audrey, now fast asleep. And then I got up, feeling better, and went to see Bell.

Bell had sent for petrol and filled the tank of each car, and he had been over them both, oiling and greasing and wiping and making sure all was well.

I told him that Audrey was sleeping and asked him to stay within call in case she woke up, and in any event to wake her at ten o’clock and to do his best to persuade her to take some food.

And then I went on to Rowley.

He showed me Plato’s chauffeur, dining in style at a café, not thirty yards off, and he said he had entered the garage and talked with its keeper within. The latter had told him the orders which he had received – to wash and polish the Swindon and have her ready by nine o’clock the next day.

This was most comforting news: but though I was very much tempted to return with Rowley forthwith to the
Panier d’Or
, I knew that, if I did so, I should not be able to rest, because we were not keeping the watch which ought to be kept. So I sent him back to relieve his faithful companion – who was himself due to relieve me in two hours’ time.

The light was failing now, because we had come so far south, and since I was moving in the shadows, I had no fear of the chauffeur’s seeing my face: but I could see the man well, for he sat without the café, and a light was hanging directly above his head. But so long as he kept his distance, I was not concerned with him: I was concerned with the garage in which the Swindon was lodged. So I strolled up and down with my eyes on its narrow entry, thankful for the cool of the evening and wondering how long it would be before Mansel arrived.

And then I got the shock of my life, for a car came out of the garage with both its headlights on, and I could not see what it was, because its surroundings were dark, but its lights were full in my eyes. It had entered the stream of traffic, before I had time to think, and since this was moving fast, was away in a flash, and I only saw its number by the skin of my teeth.

In fact, it was not the Swindon, although it was very much like her in several ways: but the incident showed me that I must cross the street and stand quite close to the entry, if I was to do any good – or else must watch the chauffeur and let the Swindon go.

After a moment’s reflection, I decided to cross the street…

The entry which served the garage was really more of a tunnel than anything else: and that is why, no doubt, the drivers of cars which used it employed their lights: and the garage itself was very dimly lighted, although it was very spacious and seemed to be full of cars.

It was I think this condition which showed me that I should do better to enter the garage itself, for out on the pavement I had no cover at all and if the chauffeur appeared, he might very easily see me before I saw him; but in the garage itself a troop of men could have lurked without being seen.

And so I walked into the garage, slipped between two of the cars and began to look round.

At the far end lights were burning, but they were round some corner and so in fact out of sight. But the light which they threw illumined indirectly the rest of the place. This illumination was naturally very faint, and I saw at once that I had done well to come in, for that here I could go as I pleased without being seen.

Out of sight, where the lights were burning, some man was washing a car – I could hear the hiss of the jet and the sudden snarl of the water striking the wings. I assumed that this was the watchman, for I could see no one at all.

Carefully moving forward, towards the light, I presently found the Swindon, standing in line.

With an eye on the narrow entry, I stole round about the car – my shoes, which were soled with rubber, making no sound. All the windows were down, and I looked inside.

And then I noticed something.

The luggage was still in the car.

The cushions which made the back seat had been taken away, and suitcases – four, I think – had been stacked in their place – a wise enough proceeding, for, though the floor was empty, the weight of the baggage was lying above the back axle and so must help to hold the wheels down on the road.

And then I heard a voice raised – and almost jumped out of my skin.

“Hi, you there,” someone shouted. And then again, “Hi!”

Of course I knew it was Plato; and of course I knew that he was addressing me: and my knees were loose, as I turned to saunter away.

Once, as I thought, out of sight, I darted behind a car, to peer in that direction from which Plato’s voice had come. And then I saw that he was not addressing me, but was trying to make himself heard by the man who was washing the car.

I saw him plainly now, standing framed in some doorway which afforded a private entrance to the hotel, and he had a small case in his hand and a hat on his head.

The noise of the water had ceased, and the washer was shambling forward towards where the other stood.

“Where’s my chauffeur?” cried Plato – and spoke such very bad French that even I could understand what he said.

I do not know what the man answered, but he pointed towards the entry, and Plato looked that way and then walked into the garage and met the man in its aisle.

Now I ought to have left there and then. I had seen and heard quite enough. But, while I hesitated, the chance was lost: for the two of them turned together, to walk towards the entry and so cut off my escape.

And then I saw that I ought to have had the Vane waiting –
not three hundred yards away, but somewhere just round the corner
, as we had done at Rouen and Neufchatel. I had employed half measures: and half measures never pay.

With two minutes’ start
in the darkness
, the Swindon was going to vanish, as though she had been swallowed up.

Mansel told me later that, had he been in my place, he would have unscrewed a valve and let the air run out of one of the Swindon’s tyres, but such was my state of mind that I never thought of that.

Instead, my tired brain offered a truly desperate shift; and since it was that or nothing, and I had not a moment to lose, I entered the back of the Swindon, shut the door behind me and then went down on my knees.