“I should think he was,” shouted Fairfax. “But I say—I want to move.”
The chauffeur smiled.
“She’ll move, sir. D’you know the way?”
“I do. D’you want any petrol?”
“I was just going to fill the tank, sir.”
“I know a garage here. You follow me.”
Ten minutes later the faithful grey two-seater had been worthily bestowed, the Hispano-Suiza’s tank had been filled to the brim and Fairfax had taken his seat beside her driver.
As they moved off—
“She’s better nor any train,” said the latter shortly.
If the surface was none too good, at least the way was straight and the road open. The reaches became gigantic: after each bend you could see for miles ahead. The traffic, too, was negligible. It was, indeed, the exception not to have the road to yourself.