In front of them for more than a hundred yards the water seemed suddenly to have flowed across the road. Still a mile distant, perched on a ridge of that strangely-placed hill, was their destination.
“It can’t be done, sir!” the man groaned. “There isn’t a car ever built could get through that. See, it’s nearly up to the top of those posts. I must put her in the reverse and get back, even if we have to wait on the higher part of the road for a boat.”
He glanced behind, and a second cry broke from his lips. Gerald stood up in his place. Already the road which had been clear a few minutes before was hidden. The water was washing almost over the tops of the white posts behind them. Little waves were breaking against the summit of the raised bank.
“We’re cut off!” the chauffeur exclaimed. “What a fool I was to try this! There’s the tide coming in as well!”
Gerald sat down in his place.
“Look here,” he said, “we can’t go back, whether we want to or not. It’s much worse behind there than it is in front. There’s only one chance. Go for it straight ahead in your first speed. It may not stop the engine. In any case, it will be worse presently. There’s no use funking it. If the worst happens, we can sit in the car. The water won’t be above our heads and there are some boats about. Blow your horn well first, in case there’s any one within hearing, and then go for it.”
The chauffeur obeyed. They hissed and spluttered into the water. Soon all trace of the road was completely lost. They steered only by the tops of the white posts.
“It’s getting deeper,” the man declared. “It’s within an inch or two of the bonnet now. Hold on.”
A wave broke almost over them but the engine continued its beat.
“If we stop now,” he gasped, “we’re done!”