“Lame a horse! What are you saying?” De Richleau was nearly as shocked at the idea as Simon had been, thirty-six hours earlier, when the Duke had killed a man.
“Say one of them is lame,” amended Simon.
“That is different — they will take them in I do not doubt. One thing is certain — we dare not drive into the town; we could not abandon the troika in the streets, and to attempt to stop at an hotel would be almost as good as walking into the bureau of the police.”
Simon nodded vigorously. “Better try a farm. If there’s a real muddle and the police are after us the farm people may refuse to let us have them again, but if we do as you say, we’ll never see them again anyhow!”
De Richleau roused himself and climbed once more into the driver’s seat. “Ah, what would I not give to be once more in the Hispano,” he said, with a little groan. “Heading for Curzon Street, my evening clothes and dinner. May the curse of God be upon the Soviet and all its works!”
Simon chuckled. “Wouldn’t mind Ferraro showing me to a table at the Berkeley myself, just at the moment!”
De Richleau whipped up the tired horses, and they proceeded a quarter of a mile down the road, then Simon tapped the Duke on the back. “What about that?” he suggested, indicating a low house to the right that had several large barns and outhouses clustered round it.
“Ah!” exclaimed the Duke, starting — he had almost fallen asleep over his reins. “Yes, why not?” He turned the horses into the side-track that led up to the farm. “Why is it, Simon, my friend,” he added, sadly, as they pulled up and he climbed down once more, “that you have never learnt either to drive a pair of horses or to speak Russian?”
“Never mind — we’re nearly through, now,” Simon encouraged him. Simon had not only slept soundly from one o’clock the previous morning till six in the ferryman’s hut, but, while the Duke was driving the solid twelve hours after they crossed the Tavda River, he had been able to doze a good deal of the time. He was therefore feeling full of vigour and enthusiasm now that they were so near their journey’s end.
“Nearly through!” the Duke echoed. “You have taken leave of your senses, my son — we have hardly started on this mad journey of ours.”