Everybody strained forward to see what would happen. The Tiger snarled and swerved wide almost to the edge of the track. Then with a deep-throated roar, she clawed around the corner, her rear wheels skidding, and was off down the straightaway like a bolt.
"Did you see that?" someone next to Woody called excitedly. "He took the Jag and didn't change down until he was on the fifty-yard mark."
"Then he changed down twice in two seconds," said another.
"Brother, he'll strip a few gears if he keeps that up," said a third.
"Not that guy," put in another. "He's a real driver. When he gets into a car, he's part of the engine."
The voice of the announcer on the loud-speaker cut in, "Captain Randolph in the new Italian car, the Black Tiger, is now fourth," he said. "Ahead are Tom Wisdom in number four, a Ferrari; Kurt Kreuger, second, in his XK140 Jag; Pete Nevins in a blue Ferrari, number thirteen; and then Randolph. Randolph passed two cars ahead of him on two bends. The first on the right-angle bend, turn number one, right after the start-finish line, and the second, Fred Manini's Thunderbird on the hairpin. He's driving beautifully and is out to win. This looks like the battle of the day. The Black Tiger corners like a cat. But the Ferraris seem to be a match for her. It's nip and tuck all the way. This is a real driver's race."
The loud-speaker cut off, and Woody heard a cheer from the far side of the track.
"The Black Tiger just took Nevin's Ferrari on the S-bends," the announcer said. "Randolph is now third, battling to get ahead of Kreuger in his XK140 Jag. This is the same car that did so well in the last Le Mans race."
"Here they come again," cried Worm.
From far down the track three black bullets hurtled toward them. Wisdom was in the lead, about a car length ahead, with Kreuger behind him and then the Black Tiger. They swept by with a roar. The Tiger's front wheels were abreast of the rear wheels of the Jag. Randy was sitting back easily in his seat, as cool as if he were out for a Sunday afternoon drive. There was a slight smile on his face and not a suggestion of tenseness anywhere about him. Suddenly Randy changed down and dropped for a second behind the Jag. Then the Black Tiger leaped forward, and the two of them went into the corner abreast. Woody saw the Jag sliding crabwise toward the Tiger and held his breath, for it looked as if it would broadside into her. But the Jag clawed off when there was nothing but the thickness of a coat of paint between them. The two disappeared around the bend in a fury of acceleration, still abreast.