With a hammering heart, Fairfax drew very close. . . .
As he slipped by he glanced round.
The chauffeur saw him and smiled and touched his hat. Except for him at the wheel, the car was empty.
Punch pulled into the side, and the other slowed up.
“Where’s his lordship?” said Fairfax.
The man’s lips tightened.
“He’s just taken the train, sir.”
“Why?”
“We ’ad a very near shave, sir, a mile or two back.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “As near to death as ever I want to be.” He paused. Then he burst out. “I’ve given ’im notice, sir. I’ve only got one life. If they mark a bend over ’ere, you can bet it’s a turn and a ’alf. I pointed ’im out the sign, but ’e didn’t care. . . . An’ a steam-roller waitin’ the other side.” He wiped his face. “I thought we was done, I did. . . . When we was through, I told ’im I’ld leave ’im at Tours. ’E asked me if I was afraid, an’ I said, Yes, I was. ‘Then drive,’ says he. ‘An’ be cursed an’ ’ounded,’ says I, ‘till I can’t think straight? Not much, my lord,’ I says. ‘I’ll leave at Tours.’ When we got ’ere ’e drove to the station an’ asked if there was a train. . . . Some train was there—movin’ . . . They ’auled ’im in and I pushed ’is dressing-case up. ‘Deliver the car,’ he cries, an’ there you are.”
“What filthy luck!” cried Punch, half to himself. “What filthy luck!”