I did not like the looks of the thing from the first, and my early impressions did not improve when, as we bumped off the drive on to the pavé, the screen suddenly detached itself from its perch and flopped into our laps.
However, the car put in some fast work between our château gates and the estaminet of the "Rising Sun" (a distance of fully two hundred yards), and my hopes soared several points. From the estaminet of the "Rising Sun" to the village of Bailleul-aux-Hondains the road wriggles down-hill in two sharp hair-pin bends. The car flung itself over the edge of the hill and plunged headlong for the first of these.
"Put on the brakes!" I shouted.
The child did some kicking and hauling with his feet and hands which made no impression whatever on the car.
"Put on the brakes, damme!" I yelled.
The child rolled the whites of his eyes towards me and announced briefly, "Brake's broke."
I looked about for a soft place to jump. There was none; only rock-plated highway whizzing past.
We took the first bend with the nearside wheels in the gutter, the off-side wheels on the bank, the car tilted at an angle of forty-five degrees. The second bend we navigated at an angle of sixty degrees, the off-side wheels on the bank, the near-side wheels pawing thin air.
Had there been another bend we should have accomplished it upside down. Fortunately there were no more; but there remained the village street. We pounced on it like a tiger upon its prey.
"Blow your horn!" I screamed to the child.