“Fools to stay so far on the road.”
“It’s a lonely road. Not many cars here at any time, almost none at this time of night. I wonder if they were going to Waldek? Perhaps we should have stopped to find out. I’ve just thought of something. They aren’t going to let us through the Rheatian customs house.”
“Why not? They let us through the other way.”
“That was reasonable. This isn’t, and we haven’t any possible explanation that will make it sound so.”
“We must overtake Helena, then,” I said, doubtfully, “before they reach the customs house.”
“That’s our only chance, and we are almost there, too. It wasn’t far, you remember.”
We were heading due south again, rising steadily toward the Pass. On the smooth surface of the road the kilometers were going past us two to the minute and more. I decided that the speedometer must be out of order. We couldn’t really be doing eighty, almost without fluctuation, yet as I looked out at the side, the landscape slipped by so fast I couldn’t count it.
Then, as we began to climb, the indicator fell back slowly from eighty to seventy-five, to seventy, a sudden drop to sixty, stayed there for a moment, then when we climbed sharply again it went down to thirty and below.
Even at thirty we had some reserve. John suddenly stepped on the gas as we rounded a curve and saw before us the low stone building that served the Rheatians for a customs house. Between it and us was no iron gate barring the way, and not more than a hundred feet to go. We zoomed forward with a fierce roar, and before I had time to realise what had happened, we were through the barrier, heading for the Alarian side of the Pass, with no chance that anyone could catch up with us before we caught up with Helena.
“Great work,” I said, trying to sound casual, “but perhaps the Rheatians may not think it so funny that we did that. We’re caught neatly enough now between the two customs houses, in the bleakest bit of country I’ve ever been in. In the name of mercy why didn’t you stop?”