To himself Fandor added: "As my little priest's window looks in the opposite direction he cannot see what I am up to."
Fandor was an expert chauffeur. The car was fully supplied with petrol and water—was in admirable order. The hotel-keeper was watching him.
"If they ask for me," said Fandor-Vinson, "tell them I have gone for a test run, and will be back in three minutes."
With that he jumped into his seat, set the car in motion, passed beneath the archway and on to the high road. He turned in the direction of Barentin.
Fandor felt the charm of this early drive through the pastoral lands of Normandy. Hope rose in him: was he not escaping from the terrifying consequences of his Vinson masquerade!
"Evidently," thought he, "I must definitely abandon the rôle of soldier: the risks are too great: if the military authorities laid me by the heels, it would be all up with Fandor-Vinson!... The real Vinson is certainly in foreign parts by now, and safe from arrest.... I know by sight the head spies at Verdun, the Norbet brothers: the elegant tourist and his car, and that false priest!... I can continue my investigations better in my own shoes, and I can get Juve to help me!"
His thoughts dwelt on the mysterious abbé.
"I would give a jolly lot to know who this pretended abbé really is!"
He tore through the village of Barentin at racing speed.
A covered cart full of peasants stopped the way. Fandor drew up. He addressed the driver: