While Punch was clear of Dieppe by seven-fifteen, it was half-past eight ere the other took the road.
A start of fifty miles was not to be sneezed at, but the ghastly delay of more than two hours had altered everything. Fairfax knew in his heart that his chances of reaching Biarritz upon the right side of midnight were very small. If he could average forty the whole of the way, well and very good. Otherwise, any interview he might have with Athalia would take place the following day. She kept late hours, certainly, but not so late as all that. On the other hand, barring accidents, there was no reason at all why a clear eye and a determined arm should not bring the Hispano-Suiza to Biarritz by nine o’clock. The devil of it was that Beringhampton must know that, if he but pleased to hurry, he could have the field to himself. The three hours lost would have been of no use to him. Had he arrived at six, by the time he had changed, Miss Choate would have gone to dress, and thence to dinner. Not till, say, half-past nine would he have had a look-in. And by then Fairfax might have come up to cramp his style. But now, if he pleased, he could have the field to himself. . . .
Punch swore beneath his breath and coaxed the grey two-seater to sixty-two.
He ran into Rouen as clocks were striking eight, and, meeting the river, followed it out of the town.
Past a quarry and up through the rising woods, over the glittering Seine, through Pont-de-l’Arche, by Louviers’ precious church, into mitred Evreux, where the broad road splits into a delta of aged streets, up over the railway and on to the rolling plain the grey two-seater flung like a thing possessed.
The first real check came at old Dreux, where it was market day. Horses and cattle and carts lumbered and lurched and sprawled and backed over the pavement, thrusting and being thrust: lorries panted and stormed, insistently demanding passage and finding none: little groups of peasants stood in the fairway, absorbed in discourse, shifting mechanically as the raving traffic pushed its way by: gossiping eagerly, old women plunged and bundled from side to side, apparently oblivious alike of time and place until dragged from under cartwheels or overthrown by collision: urchins were baiting dogs, set to guard tail-boards: gentle-eyed calves stared over sides of gigs: chickens, pinioned and thrown, eyed the welter with indignant surprise.
Ere he had time to withdraw, Punch was engulfed, and ten precious minutes went by before he was out of the town.
Troubles are gregarious.
Ten miles from Chartres a tire burst.
Fairfax changed the wheel and then, looking over his engine, found that his fan-strap had gone.