“I never talk,” he said. “I never talk.”
He spat the words rather than spoke them.
“All right,” said Fairfax, laughing. “But come to the harbour bar and have a——”
“ ’S damned bad form to laugh,” flashed Beringhampton, and went his way.
Fairfax looked after him.
“The man’s mad,” he murmured. “Staring mad. Face like a Greek god, an’ a kink in his brain. . . . And to think she thinks she loves him!” He raised his eyes to heaven. “Oh, where’s the bar?”
That night in his cabin Fairfax remade his plans.
Between Dieppe and Biarritz lay five hundred and twenty miles. He had intended to stay one night on the road and had chosen Tours as his lodging. From Dieppe to Tours the distance was two hundred miles. Thus, travelling at ease, he would have come to Biarritz on Tuesday afternoon.
His meeting with Beringhampton had altered everything.
Generally, it suggested that any avoidable delay should be avoided. Specially, it emphasized the desirability of extreme haste, first, because Beringhampton would naturally propose to reach Biarritz before the grey two-seater, and, secondly, because the Hispano-Suiza was far and away the faster car.