It took five minutes and all the cajolery at my command to induce my brother-in-law to continue his Danaidean task, until I had started the engine and we were ready to move.

Then he whipped its cap on to the radiator and clambered into the car.

I was extremely uneasy, and said as much.

It was now a quarter to five. Pampeluna was some thirty miles away, and Heaven only knew what sort of country lay before us. We were nearly at the top of the pa.s.s, and, presumably, once we were over we should strike a lot of "down hill." But if the leak became worse, and there was much more collarwork....

Desperately I put Pong along.

The snow was deeper now and was affecting the steering. The wheels, too, were slipping constantly. I had to go very gingerly. Two deep furrows ahead told of Ping's pa.s.sage. I began to wonder how Adele, Jill, and Jonah were getting on....

It was when the snow was perhaps a foot deep that we snarled past a ruined cabin and, stumbling over the very top of the world, began to descend.

Ten minutes later we came to Roncevaux. Where Abbey began or village ended, it was impossible to say, and there was no one to be seen. The place looked like a toy some baby giant had carried into the mountains, played with awhile, and then forgotten.

Here was the last of the snow, so I crammed some more into the radiator, tried very hard to think I could see the water, and hoped for the best. While I was doing this, Berry had closed the car--a wise measure, for, though we should lose a lot of scenery, the sun was sinking and Evening was laying her fingers upon the fine fresh air.

Navarre seemed very handsome. It was, indeed, all mountains--bleaker, less intimate than France, but very, very grand. And the road was splendidly laid: its long clean sweeps, its graceful curves, the way in which its line befitted the bold landscape, yet was presenting a style of its own, argued a certain poetry in the hearts of its engineers.

We swept through a village that might have been plucked out of Macedonia, so rude and stricken it looked. There was no gla.s.s in the windows: filth littered the naked street: pigs and poultry rushed for the crazy doorways at our approach.

Pampeluna being the nearest town, I realised with a shock what sort of a night we should spend if we failed to get there.

I began to hope very hard that there were no more hills. Presently the road forked and we switched to the right. Maps and Guide declared that this was the better way.

"What's _carretera accidentada_ mean?" said my sister, looking up from the Michelin Guide.

"I think _carretera_ means 'road,'" said I. "As for _accidentada_--well, it's got an ugly sound."

"Well, do look out," said Daphne. "We shall be there any minute. This must be Espinal, and that's where it begins."

Berry cleared his throat.

"The art of life," he announced, "is to be prepared. Should the car overturn and it become necessary to ply me with cordial, just part my lips and continue to pour until I say 'When.' Should---- What are you stopping for?"

"Very slightly to our rear," said I, "upon the right-hand side of the road stands a water-trough. You may have noticed it."

"I did," said Berry. "A particularly beautiful specimen of the palaeolithic epoch. Shall we go on now?"

"Supposing," said I relentlessly, "you plied the radiator. Just take the cap off and continue to pour till I say 'When.'"

"I should be charmed," was the reply. "Unfortunately I have no vessel wherewith to----"

"Here you are," said Daphne, thrusting a hot.w.a.ter bottle into his hand.

"What a mercy I forgot to pack it!"

As I lighted a cigarette--

"It is indeed," said I, "a G.o.dsend."

With an awful look, Berry received the G.o.dsend and emerged from the car.

After perhaps two minutes he reappeared.

"No good," he said shortly. "The water's too hard or something. The brute won't look at it."

"Nonsense," said Daphne.

"All right," said her husband. "You go and tempt it. I'm through, I am."

"Squeeze the air out of it and hold it under the spout."

"But I tell you----"

I took out my watch.

"In another half-hour," I said, "it'll be dark, and we've still forty kilometres----"

Heavily Berry disappeared.

When I next saw him he was filling the radiator from his hat....

After six journeys he screwed on the cap and made a rush for the car.

"But where's my bottle?" screamed Daphne.

"I rejoice to say," replied Berry, slamming the door, "that full fathom five the beggar lies."

"You've never dropped----"

"If it's any consolation," said Berry, as I let in the clutch, "he perished in fair fight. The swine put about a bucket up each of my sleeves first, and then spat all over my head. Yes, it is funny, isn't it? Never mind. Game to the last, he went down regurgitating like a couple of bath-rooms. And now I really am flea-bitten. I can't feel anything except my trunk."

It was as well that we had taken in water, for very soon, to my dismay, we began to climb steadily...

Once again we watered--Heaven knows how high up--at a hovel, half barn, half cottage, where a st.u.r.dy mother came lugging a great caldron before we had named our need. In all conscience, this was obvious enough.

The smell of fiery metal was frightening me to death.

Mercifully, that terrible ascent was the last.

As the day was dying, we dropped down a long, long hill, round two or three death-trap bends, and so, by gentle stages, on to a windy plain....

It was half-past six when we ran into Pampeluna.

After paying an entrance fee, we proceeded to the Grand Hotel. It was intensely cold, and a wind cut like a knife. The streets were crowded, and we moved slowly, with the result that the eight urchins who decided to mount the running-boards did so without difficulty. The four upon my side watched Berry evict their fellows with all the gratification of the immune.

"Little brutes," said Daphne. "Round to the left, Boy. That's right.

Straight on. Look at that one. He's holding on by the lamp. Boy, can't you---- Now to the right.... Here we are."

"Where?" said I, slowing up.