If Houeilles knew of our passage, her ears told her. Seemingly the hamlet slept. I doubt if we took four seconds to thread its one straight street. Next day, I suppose, men swore the devil was loose. They may be forgiven. Looking back from a hazy distance, I think he was at my arm.
As we ran into Casteljaloux, a clock was striking….
Nine o'clock.
We had covered the thirty-five miles in thirty-five minutes dead.
"To the left, you know," said Piers.
"Left?" I cried, setting a foot on the brake. "Straight on, surely. We turn to the left at Marmande."
"No, no, no. We don't touch Marmande. We turn to the left here." I swung round obediently. "This is the Langon road. It's quite all right, and it saves us about ten miles."
Ten miles.
I could have screamed for joy.
Only fifty-five miles to go—and an hour and a quarter left.