He had to slow down—could hardly see a yard ahead of him.
Once he stopped, and with the aid of a lamp from the car found a signpost.
Somerton Lock—one mile . . .
Almost there! He tried to believe it was not too late, tried to remember that for all these years Feathers had been his loyal friend. Once the car swerved under his shaking hand, and he had to stop dead with grinding brakes, thinking he was off the road.
It was then that he heard steps running up the road towards him, and a man's voice calling through the mist and darkness.
He started the car again impatiently, but as he did so a man's figure came out of the gloom into the uncertain light of his lamps.
"There's a car in the river . . . For God's sake, sir, come. It's a mile from the lock and not a soul nearer! Lost the road in this mist they must have done." He read the refusal in Chris' face, and he broke out again passionately, "Oh, for God's sake, sir! There's a woman in it!"
As if in corroboration of his statement, a frantic cry came faintly to them through the mist.
Chris hesitated no longer. He caught up a strap which lay at the bottom of the car and, dragging a lamp from its hook, ran back along the road with the man.
"Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly as they ran. "How can a car have got into the river?"