“It sounds like the axle,” said the chauffeur ruefully.
He unshipped a lamp and examined the car, which had wedged itself against a great drift of snow on the off side. Meanwhile McCurdie and Biggleswade had alighted.
“Yes, it’s the axle,” said the chauffeur.
“Then we’re done,” remarked Boyne.
“I’m afraid so, my lord.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t we get on?” asked Biggleswade in his querulous voice.
McCurdie laughed. “How can we get on with a broken axle? The thing’s as useless as a man with a broken back. Gad, I was right. I said it was going to be an infernal journey.”
The little Professor wrung his hands. “But what’s to be done?” he cried.
“Tramp it,” said Lord Boyne, lighting a fresh cigar.
“It’s ten miles,” said the chauffeur.