The Cruise of the Gyro-Car

by Herbert Strang

The Admiralty launch made the Harbour of Calais about a quarter-past eight. There was a train for Paris waiting at the Gare Maritime, but learning that it did not arrive until 4.15, the Bucklands decided to stick to their plan of riding through the night. The production of George’s card of membership of the Automobile Club, and a short and pleasant interview between the naval lieutenant and the Custom House officer, sufficed to frank the gyro-car without the payment of import duty. Having enjoyed a meal on board the launch, the brothers were ready to start at once, and with cordial good-wishes from the officer, and amid many “Hé’s” and “Ah’s” and other exclamations from the onlookers, they set off on their journey.

The distance from Calais to Paris is a hundred and eighty odd miles. George had cycled over the route in the previous spring, and knew its general features. It would be easy, he thought, to maintain an average speed of at least twenty-five miles on a highway kept in such admirable repair as are all the French main roads, even allowing for slowing down when passing through villages and towns. The sky was clear, and illuminated by a half-moon, and the powerful acetylene lamp which he carried at the front of the car shed its rays many yards ahead. The interior of the car was lit by two small electric lamps, one on each side.

“There’s no chance of their catching us, is there?” said George, as the car spun merrily along.

“I think not,” replied Maurice. “They will have to wait for the train, which doesn’t get to Paris until 5:50. We ought to be there before four, so that at the worst we shall have an hour and a half before they can arrive.”

Before they had been two hours on the road, they were glad to think that they had so much margin. George was not accustomed to steering the car at a rapid pace by night, and Maurice’s experience was even less than his brother’s, so that they found it by no means easy to maintain the speed that George had mentioned. Until they reached Béthune they had a clear run, but thenceforward they had to slow down more often than they wished. There were octroi barriers, where they were halted and examined, much to George’s disgust. He found also that the places through which they passed had quite a different aspect at night from what he remembered of them by day, and more than once he had to stop to allow Maurice to ask the way of a gendarme or an innkeeper. At such times the curiosity excited by the unusual appearance of the car found expression in questions which had to be evaded rather than answered.

It was growing light by the time they reached the Porte Maillot. Here they had to submit to an interrogatory by the officer of the gate, and George smiled discreetly as he witnessed for the first time his brother’s diplomatic manner.

“I never knew you could be so polite,” he said, as they ran down the Avenue de la Grande Armée. “Perhaps it sounds politer in French than it really is. But it’s rotten to have to pay a tax on the petrol we carry.”

A few yards from the gate they saw a taxi-cab standing at the side of the road. The driver was in his seat, and two men were entering the cab as the gyro-car sped by.

“Early birds—or late,” said Maurice.

The street cleaners paused in the work to wonder and admire, and when the car came to the Place de l’Etoile Maurice turned about to glance back at an old fellow whose comical expression of face amused him. He noticed the taxi-cab coming at a good pace behind them; but the road was so broad, and so clear of traffic, that George drove the gyro-car through the Champs Elysées at a much higher speed than he would have dared in Hyde Park, and moment by moment it increased. He turned left into the Rue Royale, then to right into the Rue St. Honoré, and ran the car into the garage of the Hotel St. James where he and Maurice had both stayed during previous visits to the city. Having arranged for the replenishment of the petrol tanks and the cleaning of the car, they went into the hotel to get a wash and brush up, which they much needed after their long journey over dusty roads. It was half-past four.