"Isabel——?"
"Isabel has told us that your companion threw the wrench that struck me, and why you bore the charge. You stand cleared."
Corrie slowly drew himself erect in his seat, brushing the water from his eyes and pushing back his wet clusters of fair hair. It was not so much color as vital life that flowed into his face, mechanically he reached for his mask.
"Thanks," he answered. "I can drive, now."
"Tanks full," shouted a score of voices.
Men scattered from around the car's wheels in expectation of the start, Gerard stepped back. But Corrie turned in his seat and held out his hand to the speechless Rupert.
"You heard—now do it," he required.
Still dumb, the mechanician dragged off his glove and gave for the race's finish the hand-clasp that he had denied for its start.
The Mercury sprang from her camp with a roar of unloosed power and speed-lust. Car and driver splendid mates, they fled in pulsating vigor down their white path where the sun was shining.
During the rest of the hour, people stood up in seats and automobiles, watching the Mercury Titan. Not before had they witnessed driving like that, never again could the driver himself equal that inspired flight.