“Look out for the turn ahead,” said Maurice anxiously, after a minute or two.
“All right.”
He threw off the power, but there was scarcely any slackening of speed. He clapped on the brakes gently; the bend in the road was very near. It happened to occur at a little hollow, partly overshadowed by trees, and a few yards of the roadway were covered with a film of greasy mud. The brakes, now fast set, were unequal to the demand upon them. Experienced motorist as he was, George had the sickening feeling to which the most hardened never becomes accustomed; the car was skidding. It swung round; he managed to steer it past a stone post at the roadside, shaving the obstacle by an inch; and then it seemed to vault the shallow ditch, and was finally brought up in the middle of a hedge of brambles. But it maintained its balance.
“This is more excoriating than exhilarating,” said Maurice coolly, as he passed his handkerchief over his scratched cheeks. “You steered wonderfully, but I think for the rest of our journey we had better be respectable, even if we are dull; we can’t afford time for repairs.”
“You’re right, as usual, old man. By Jove! that was a squeak. I had the most ghastly feeling. I hope there’s no buckling.”
They got out and examined the car. There was no apparent injury. Dragging it back to the road they resumed their journey, content to jog along, as George described it, at thirty miles an hour.
It was a pleasant ride along that coast road, through fishing villages, with the sea, sparkling in the early sunbeams, on one side, and groves of oranges, lemons, and olives on the other. Here was a row of date-palms, there an avenue of plane trees, and at intervals brightly decorated villas gleaming amid abundant greenery. The road began to be populous with fishers, donkey-drivers, girls going to the lace factories, barefooted young labourers on their way to the vineyards and olive-yards. They stopped to gaze at the gyro-car; a youth would raise a “Viva!” a girl wave a coloured kerchief—smiling, happy people in a smiling country.
Presently Pisa hove in sight, with her marble cathedral and leaning tower gleaming white in the sunlight. But the travellers could not wait for sightseeing; they ran across the Arno and along the pine-clad road to Leghorn, passed through this grimy seaport, on and on until, as they topped a rise, the battlements of the fortress at Volaterra struck upon their view. Through the narrow, steep street of Colle, crowded with children, who shrieked as they tumbled out of the way; along the cypress-shaded road, winding over and around the hills; and they see the towers of Siena. Still they do not halt, until one of the front tyres burst with a loud report, and they had to stay at a little village while it was replaced. They profited by the enforced stop to take their luncheon. The village inn had little to provide them except hard brown bread and eggs fried in butter, with a sourish wine for beverage. But they were hungry enough not to be fastidious. After a halt of half-an-hour they set off again, and ran along steadily through the hot afternoon until, about four o’clock, they came to Rome.
Here they stayed an hour for an early dinner. The next important stage would be Naples, and as they could not hope to reach that city until past midnight, they thought it best to have a full meal before going on. They bought petrol and two new tyres at the British Stores, and left at 5 o’clock. Six hours later they came to Naples, having again slept and driven in turn. There they took a light meal. The mail train, as Maurice knew, arrived at Brindisi at 11:30 a.m. It was possible that the Count himself, or if not he, some of his men, had boarded the train, and since it was all-important that it should not reach the port before them, they refused to yield to the solicitation of fatigue, and started at 2 o’clock in the morning for the ride across from sea to sea.
They had an easy run to Eboli, but after crossing the Sele river, when dawn was breaking, they found the road difficult. The soil was loose; there was scarcely half a mile level; the ascents and descents were steep and dangerous. George was in a constant state of anxiety lest a tyre should be punctured, and drove more slowly than at any previous part of the journey. They had almost forgotten the pursuers. What was their amazement and consternation, as they began the ascent of a steep acclivity, when, hearing the sound of a motor behind them, they turned their heads and beheld the green motor flashing at headlong pace down the incline they had just descended.