"Take the wheel, and welcome," said Carstairs, yawning prodigiously and retreating to a seat in the body of the car, beside John.
It was evident that Weber understood automobiles. He handled the wheel with a practised hand, and sent it forward with a skill and delicacy of touch equal to that of Carstairs.
"It is, indeed, a beautiful machine," he said. "Splendid work went into the making of it, and I can well believe as you do that it belonged to a prince."
John's sleepiness increased. The motion was so smooth and pleasant! And the absence of danger and strained effort lulled one to slumber. He fought it off, and then concluded that he was foolish. Why shouldn't he go to sleep? Carstairs was asleep already and Wharton, who felt such a tremendous weight of responsibility, was nodding. His eyelids fell. He raised them with a desperate effort, but they fell again and remained closed.
When John awoke a dimness over the western hills showed that the twilight was advancing. Through sleepy eyes he saw Weber's back as he bent a little over the wheel, steering steadily. The road now led through forest.
"Where are we, Weber?" he asked.
"Ah, awake are you," said the Alsatian, not looking back. "You saved my life, but it was most fortunate that you had the chance of doing it. Otherwise all of you would have perished from lack of sleep."
"Lack of sleep? What's that?" exclaimed Carstairs, waking up and hearing the last words. "Why, I'm always lacking sleep. I believe the greatest hardship of war is the way it deprives you of sleep. When I've helped take Berlin, Hamburg, Munich and other important German cities, and this war's over, I'm going back to England to sleep a month, and if anybody wakes me before the right time there'll be a merry civil war in that blessed isle."
Wharton, who had been somewhat uneasy in his sleep, woke up in turn, and his hand flew to his tightly buttoned coat. But he felt the papers safely there and his heart resumed its natural beat. Yet he was angry with himself. No man who carried perhaps the fate of a continent should ever close his eyes a moment.
"We're crossing a range of hills," said Weber, replying as soon as he could to John's question. "We've been making good time. We ought to strike the French line by midnight and then our journey will be over."