“Oh! I’ll take my turn when we start again. I think I can trust you to drive—for a few miles at any rate.”
For seven francs they had a capital déjeuner at the hotel. When they had finished, George had the machine oiled, and bought a supply of petrol, and about 1 o’clock they started for the next stage of their journey, Beaune, thirty-six kilometres distant.
“Now, old boy, it’s up to you,” said George, as they left the town behind them. “The road is quite flat, and we’ll get along all right if you’re careful. Wake me if anything happens.”
Maurice had driven the car once or twice at home, so that he undertook the piloting without any tremors. But, being cautious by nature and training, he contented himself with a speed of twenty miles. It was more than an hour before he reached Beaune. George was fast asleep, so his brother made no halt, but ran on at the same pace along an equally level road for another two hours. Then, just after passing the village of Romenay, where for the first time in more than fifty miles the road undulated, he heard the characteristic hum of a motor-car some distance behind. The gyro-car itself, moving at a comparatively low speed, made so little noise that he was aware of the sound almost as soon as if he had been walking.
The road was clear, and, keeping his hand on the steering wheel, he ventured to look round. A considerable quantity of dust was rising, and through this cloud he was for a few moments unable to see whether the motor was actually travelling the same road or not. But going round a slight curve in the direction from which the breeze was blowing, he saw, as the dust was carried aside, a motor-car running at a great rate towards him, about half a mile away. He could take only a fleeting glance, the alternate dip and rise of the road necessitating watchfulness; but that glance sufficed to tell him that the car was running at a much higher speed than his own.
He wakened George.
“There is a motor behind us,” he said. “Just take a look at it.”
George was up in an instant.
“There’s so much dust that I can’t be sure of the colour of it,” he said, “but it’s a powerful car, and gaining on us. What’s your speed?” He glanced at the indicator. “Twenty! quite lady-like, upon my word. Let me get back to my place.”
“I don’t like the idea of running away,” said Maurice. “It may not be the Count’s car at all.”