"Thanks very much," said I. "We'll go by the forest."
I think I was right.
I knew the forest road and I knew its surface was superb. Thirty miles of pavement, which I did not know, which was admittedly rough, presented a ghastly prospect. The 'luxury' tax of fifteen precious miles, tacked on to the way of the forest, was really frightening, but since such a little matter as a broken lamp would kill our chances, I dared not risk the rough and tumble of the pavement upon the Roquefort road.
At last the cross-roads came, and we swung to the right. We had covered a third of the ground.
I glanced at the gleaming clock sunk in the dash.
Twenty-five minutes past eight.
An hour and fifty minutes—and a hundred miles to go.
With a frightful shock I realised that, even with the daylight to help me, I had used a third of my time.
I began to wish frantically that I had gone by Roquefort. I felt a wild inclination to stop and retrace my steps. Pavement? Pavement be burned. I must have been mad to throw away fifteen miles—fifteen golden miles….
Adèle's face, pale, frightened, accusing, stared at me through the wind-screen. Over her shoulder, Jill, white and shrinking, pointed a shaking finger.