The Dutch boy slowed the engine by putting up the throttle lever, under the wheel. He stared blankly from Fay to the German.
“All right,� said the cracksman as the door of the inn opened and let out a mellow light. “I paid him. I’ll pay you, too, when you land me over there.� Fay pointed toward the east through the night fog.
The boy twisted the wheel, partly pressed his pedal and advanced the throttle. The flivver spun and almost struck the German with the rear mud-guard. Fay leaped aboard and showed the boy a shining yellow sovereign in the hollow of his palm.
“Drive like hell!â€� he said. “I’ll show you the way—along the canal.â€�
The soldier shouted something as the tiny car rattled over the cobbles and darted into the one street
of the town. Fay drew his cap down over his eyes and leaned out. He blinked as he noted the kind of tires the auto was equipped with. They were sections of rubber hose bound with wire and rope. They bumped and clattered. They drove a series of shivers up his spine.
“England’s embargo!� he groaned.
The Dutch boy pressed the pedal through to second speed. The car rumbled over a causeway and turned into a white road which was lined with stem-like trees of a species Fay had never seen. He held tight to the bouncing seat and peered through the cracked windshield. The two searchlights rose and fell with the engine’s revolutions. One moment the road was dark and pit-like; the next, the way was clear for a full hundred yards.
The boy knew his business. This much Fay had decided. The light car roared with open muffler through sleeping towns. It swerved at a bend of the canal and struck off across a dyke-country beyond which glowed the lights of a city.
Low barns and houses, crowned with the gaunt arms of silent windmills, flashed by. A shout struck out from a crossing. The boy went on with his blue eyes fixed on the road and his hand on the throttle-lever.