There are few bends in a fen road. Those who made them may have had the roads of Russia in their minds, for fen roads tend to be drawn with a ruler from end to end.
They saw the Professor, still struggling with his bicycle, more than a mile away. They saw him run pushing his machine, and this time it fired and went.
Joey said, "Oh!" in deep disappointment. John grinned again.
"Some race, Joey! Hold tight—if he can rip, so can we."
He only spoke once again. "You might loosen my dirk, Kid; it's your side."
Then he bent himself to the wheel, and got every inch of speed out of the car that was in her. The distance between car and bicycle diminished slowly.
The wind roared and tasted salt to the lips; the towers of St. Philip and St. James stood higher and higher. And now the high parapet of the reservoir was in sight. When they passed that, Deeping Royal was not three-quarters of a mile away.
"He must be going to see the match after all!" shrieked Joey. She had to scream to run any chance of being heard above the roar of wind and the racing, lurching car.
There was still half a mile between car and bicycle when the bicycle was up to the reservoir, and the Professor clapped on his brakes, and dashed for it on foot.
"John!" Joey screamed. The play, which the occupants of Blue Dorm had acted to celebrate Miss Craigie's return, rushed suddenly into her mind. She remembered the box of tiny bottles hidden in the cigar case, and the thin cruel smile she had seen on the Professor's face as she looked at him through the keyhole.