Barres slowed down to twenty miles. Long double barriers of dense and misty woodland flanked the road on either hand, with few cultivated fields between and very rarely a ramshackle barn.
Acres of alder swamp spread away on either hand, set with swale and pool and tussock. And across the flat desolation the east was all a saffron glow now, and the fish-crows were flying in twos and threes above the bog holes.
“There’s a man in the road ahead,” said Westmore.
“I see him.”
The man threw up one arm in signal, then made a sweeping gesture indicating that they should turn to the left. The man was Renoux.
“A cart-track and a pair of bars,” said Westmore. “Their car has been in there, too. You can see the tire marks.”
Renoux sprang onto the running board without a word.
Barres steered his car very gingerly in through the bars and along the edge of the woods where, presently, 396 the swampy cart-track turned to the right among the trees.
“All right!” said Renoux briskly, dropping to the ground. He shook hands with the two new arrivals, passed one arm under each of theirs, and led them forward along a wet, ferny road toward a hardwood ridge.
Here Souchez and Alost, who lay full length on the dead leaves, got up, to welcome the reinforcements, and to point out the disreputable old brick building which stood close to the further edge of the woods, rear end toward them, and fronting on a rutty crossroad beyond.