“And then?”
“Then we should have to make our way across Albania.”
“Over the mountains! My dear sir, it’s quite impossible.”
“Our gyro can go wherever there’s a track,” protested George.
“You would be murdered en route,” said the officer; “they’re all brigands there.”
“When I was in Constantinople,” said Maurice, “I made acquaintance with several Albanians, and learnt something of the language. I think we might get through safely.”
“But, my dear sir, what about petrol? You will use far more in crossing the Adriatic than you would over the same distance by land, and you can’t possibly carry enough with you to take you to Sofia over mountainous country. There’s no chance whatever of getting petrol on the other side.”
“Yes, that is decidedly awkward,” said Maurice.
“Don’t give it up,” urged George. “Surely there’s a vessel of some sort that could take us over, and plenty of petrol too.”
“Let us ask the proprietor; he will know,” said Maurice.