REALLY there could be no question that the car had got away from her. Stanley Downs, driving his high-powered Archimedes down the winding mountain road, had noticed the girl eight or ten miles back, and had admired the ease with which she managed the rakish six-cylinder in the many difficult spots, where strength, as well as skill, was demanded to keep the road.
She was a slim, bright-faced young woman. He knew that, because he had had one good look at her pretty face as she swung around a “hairpin turn” and passed him on the lower road, while he traveled to the bend on the upper.
He had taken a chance in looking sideways while preparing to negotiate the cruel bend with his own car. He should have kept his attention straight ahead, without regard to any girl, pretty or otherwise, who might be passing two hundred feet away, and who certainly was paying no attention to him.
“That’s a Fanchon she’s driving, Karl,” remarked Stanley to his chauffeur, who sat idly by his side. “It’s a new car, and I don’t know whether it is dependable or not. It has speed, and the lines are graceful and strong. But until a car has been well tried out, you never know where a weakness will develop.”
“The Fanchon’s a good car,” pronounced Karl briefly.
“Glad you know that, Karl, because it—— Hello! What does that mean?”
Karl suddenly came to life, as, when they got around the bend, he, as well as Stanley, saw that the Fanchon was moving faster and faster, and, moreover, was swaying from side to side in a wild manner, which, to their experienced eyes, told its own story.
“Something’s slipped, Karl. She’s lost control.”
“She sure has! And there’s the lake and bridge at the end of the short quarter-mile turn! She can’t make the bridge at that speed.”
“Of course she can’t!” returned Stanley excitedly, as he opened up his own gas a few notches. “There’s an ugly twist there. Merciful Heaven! If she strikes the bend like that, only one thing can happen. She’ll shoot into fifty feet of water.”