"Yes, and when we don't show up at Vendôme, they'll wire to Calais.
Seriously, as Shakespeare says, I'm all of a doo-dah."
That we should be stopped at St. Calais was not likely, and I said as much. What did worry me, because it was far more probable, was that when they drew blank at Vendôme, the authorities would telephone to Tours. Any apprehension, however, regarding our reception at that city was soon mercifully, unmercifully, and somewhat paradoxically overshadowed by a more instant anxiety lest we should never arrive there at all. From the moment we left the main road, the obstacles in the shape of uncharted roads and villages, pavements, cattle, goats, a horse fair, and finally a series of appalling gradients, opposed our passage. All things considered, my brother-in-law drove admirably. But it was a bad business, and, while my wife and Berry were very staunch, I think we all regretted that I had been so high with Blue Nose.
Night had fallen ere we slunk into Tours.
Fully expecting to find that the others had well-nigh given us up, we were astounded to learn at the hotel that Ping had not yet arrived. Indeed, we had finished dinner, and were debating seriously whether we should take a hired car and go to seek them, when there was a flurry of steps in the corridor, Nobby rushed to the door, and the next moment Daphne and Jill burst into the room.
"My darling," said Berry, advancing, "where on earth have you been?"
My sister put her arms about his neck and looked into his eyes.
"Kiss me 'Good-bye,'" she said. "Jonah's just coming."
Her husband stared at her. Then—
"Is it as bad as all that?" he said. "Dear, dear. And how did he get the booze?"
Somebody cleared his throat.