“A hundred and twelve: that’s about a hundred and twenty-seven miles altogether.”
“Well, we’ll do it in under four hours if the Customs don’t cause trouble. We ought to get to Turin about eleven; there’ll be no traffic on the road at this time of night; then we’ll have dinner, and follow it with supper: I feel as if I hadn’t eaten for a week.”
They reached Modane in an hour and a half, and halted at the Customs station. Maurice, feeling very stiff, alighted from the car, and met the official at the door. He had already ascertained from his Guide that the dues on motor-cars were levied by weight, but that motor-cycles were passed on payment of a fixed due of forty-two francs.
“Monsieur will place the car on the weighing-machine,” said the official, politely.
“Certainly, Monsieur, if you insist,” replied Maurice: “but, as you perceive, our car is of the nature of a motor-cycle.”
The man walked towards it.
“It is as you say, Monsieur,” he said, staring at the car. “But, pardon me, it runs on four wheels: ma foi! it stands on four wheels! I have never seen such a thing before: it is not mentioned in the regulations.”
“No, it is a new invention,” said Maurice, courteously, as if he were addressing a prince. “It is, as you see, a sort of double bicycle, and is kept upright when stationary by the gyroscopes spinning at the back there. You would like to look at them, no doubt.”
“Don’t waste time,” said George in English.
“It will save time in the end. Stop the spinning and let down the supports.”