No more time was wasted. It was precious. He ran quickly to the hall, back to get an overcoat, felt in its place for the garage key, remembered approximately the amount of petrol in the tank of his car, made sure that he had the key of the front door,—all as if in a single movement of thought and action; and then, with his coat still open, left the house at high speed. He was out again in the night, and in that chilly darkness, racing to the garage; and as he raced he laughed again, exhilarated by the sense of adventure, by the surprise of such a call, by quick speculation as to its cause. Above everything else, exhilarated by the knowledge that he was after all to see Patricia that night.
CHAPTER TWENTY: BABIES
i
The night was very still and very fresh; but it was not freezing. A little wind hung and played in the trees, and sometimes swept along the ground; and it was dark because neither moon nor stars were visible. All the noises of the day were silenced. Only at times did a solitary taxicab create a burst of humming as it passed the end of a road, and the sound faded as suddenly as it had risen. Edgar, running from the house in his thin shoes, made hardly more than a light pattering upon the sidewalk. It was a night for adventure.
He could not yield to the quick speculations which darted to his brain; for the moment was one which demanded a clear head and rapidly applied thought. So many things might impede his progress: the car might be difficult to start, a tyre might be down, the thousand unexpected vagaries with which the motorist may at any moment be hindered were all present as possibilities to Edgar's mind. He was alert and anxious, bent upon meeting every emergency before it arose; and as he ran swiftly he was almost praying that there might on this occasion be no mishap.
The garage in which Edgar kept his car lay at some distance from his home. It had been a stable; but was so no longer. Two heavy, painted doors fastened with a padlock. They were opened very quickly, and pushed back against the outer wall of the garage. The light showed his faithful friend standing mutely in its place, as if waiting for his arrival—a grave little dark blue coupé with a long blue bonnet to match its body, and an interior of soft grey. Even in his haste, Edgar looked proudly upon the car. It was so beautiful, so speedy, so responsive to his touch; its line was so graceful, its lightness so apparent. Very fit instrument was this car for the deliverance of any maid in distress. There was no least incongruity between it and the romantic mission upon which Edgar believed himself to be engaged.
And yet he must not stay to think or feel. For him the detail of mechanical aids to swiftness was of urgent importance. As if in one movement, he switched on the lights, front and tail, manipulated three little knobs, ran quickly to the front of the car, and gave his engine a swing. His lips were tightly compressed; his expert ear was strained.... The engine was cold. What if there should be a difficulty in starting? Ghastly! Again he swung upon the handle, and at the resulting sound straightened with a breath of inexplicable relief. Within that little blur of fluttering noise lay reassurance. It was all right. Tick-a-tick-a-tick-a-tick, said the engine, as happy and regular as if the car were coasting a hill. One, two, three; Edgar was in his place. The noise was increased. The car was in motion. He was out upon the dark road, speeding to Patricia through the deserted streets, now so fair and open to the questing traveller; the only sound audible to Edgar that beautiful eagerness which animated his own car. His eyes were steady and his hand easy upon the wheel. The lights of the main thoroughfares were clear, unearthly, and the way was free, as if inviting him to the race.
London at night he knew; but this journey gave Edgar a new vision of it. So quickly did he pass familiar objects that they swam together in his recording impression. It was London dignified and purified into ghostly loveliness by the night, but London so decreased in size that it became a village. All monuments and buildings of great size or antiquity were made insignificant; the broad roads of the west as he sped through them were so many paths. He had his goal, and could not attend the beauties he so silently and so eagerly left upon his way.