“She’s in tip-top condition,” he said. “Not a sign of weakness anywhere. Have you seen anything of Slavianski?”
“Nothing,” replied Maurice. “I don’t think he has come into the town. The arrival of a racing motor could not fail to attract attention. The Foreign Office has discovered who he is, and telegraphed to us to be on our guard.”
“Thank you for nothing,” said George with a grimace. “Have you made all arrangements?”
“Yes. The skipper is a stout fellow, and if his seamanship is as good as his Italian is bad, we shall make Durazzo in less than twelve hours.”
“What about passports, by the way?” asked the officer. “You can’t travel in Turkey without them.”
“I have mine,” replied Maurice. “George must pass as my chauffeur; I daresay they’ll let him in without difficulty in that capacity.”
Having dined early as the guest of the officer, they left the hotel about five o’clock, running the gauntlet of a crowd of urchins who shrieked entreaties for alms. George had started the gyroscopes while still in the garage. They proceeded due westward over a gradually ascending road until they ran down into the little town of S. Vito de Normanni. Immediately after leaving this town Maurice, looking back, saw the green car speeding after them at a tremendous pace.
“They haven’t given it up, then,” said George, when Maurice informed him.
He opened the throttle until the car spun along at the rate of nearly seventy miles an hour. For a few minutes the racer held its own, but then began to drop away, not from any defect of speed, but owing to the bumpiness of the road. Just before reaching Ostuni there was a short, steep hill, first down and then up. George did not slacken speed until he reached the by-road that turned abruptly to the right towards the sea. When round the corner he drove at maximum velocity, crossed the railway line, and came to the hamlet of Villanuova, within twenty minutes of leaving Brindisi. Maurice looked anxiously behind. There was no sign of the motor-car; it had indeed overshot the by-road.
Amid the wonderment of the fishermen, the gyro-car ran down the beach, and into the sea. The Margherita was not in sight, and George steered eastward to meet her. They were nearly a mile from the shore when they saw the motor-car emerge from the village. It halted for a few minutes; no doubt Slavianski was scanning the sea. Then it turned about, and disappeared from view.