It took us exactly two minutes to locate the trouble--which was in the magneto--and just over two hours to put it right.

As we slid out of Angouleme, an impatient clock announced that it was mid-day.

At least the delay had done something. So far as the second wager was concerned, it had altered the whole complexion of the case. We were no longer betting upon anything approaching a certainty. Indeed, unless we could break the back of the distance before daylight failed, our chances of reaching Pau before ten were worth little. If the road to Bordeaux were as fine as that from Poitiers, and Berry could find his form, we should probably run to time. We could not afford, however, to give a minute away.

As luck would have it, the state of the road was, on the whole, rather worse than any we had used since we left Boulogne. Presumably untouched for over six years, the wear and tear to which, as one of the arteries springing from a great port, it had been subjected, had turned a sleek highway into a shadow of itself. There was no flesh; the skin was broken; the very bones were staring.

For the first half hour we told one another that we had struck a bad patch. For the second we expressed nervous hopes that the going would grow no worse. After that, Berry and I lost interest and suffered in silence. Indeed, but for Adele, I think we should have thrown up the sponge and spent the night at Bordeaux.

My lady, however, kept us both going.

She had studied our route until she knew it by heart, and was just burning to pilot us through Bordeaux and thence across Gascony.

"They're sure to make mistakes after Bordeaux. You know what the sign-posts are like. And the road's really tricky. But I spent two hours looking it up yesterday evening. I took you through Barbezieux all right, didn't I?"

"Like a book, darling."

"Well, I can do that every time. And I daresay they'll have tire trouble. Besides, the road's no worse for us than it is for them, and after Bordeaux it'll probably be splendid. Of course we'll be there before ten--we can't help it. I want to be there before Jonah. I've got a hundred----"

"My dear," I expostulated, "I don't want to----"

"We've got a jolly good chance, any way. While you were getting her right, I got the lunch, and we can eat that without stopping. You can feed Berry. We'll gain half an hour like that."

Before such optimism I had not the face to point out that, if our opponents had any sense at all, they had lunched before leaving Angouleme.

"Here's a nice patch," added Adele. "Put her along, you two."

Spurred by her enthusiasm, we bent again to the oars.

Contrary to my expectation, my brother-in-law, if unusually silent, was driving well. But the road was against him. He had not sufficient experience to be able to keep his foot steady upon the accelerator when a high speed and a rude surface conspired to dislodge it--a shortcoming which caused us all three much discomfort and lost a lot of mileage.

Then, again, I dared not let him drive too close to the side of the road. Right at the edge the surface was well preserved, and I knew that Jonah's off wheels would make good use of it. Such finesse, however, was out of Berry's reach. We pelted along upon what remained of the crown painfully.

Seventy-three miles separate Bordeaux from Angouleme, and at the end of two hours fifty-four of them lay behind us. All things considered, this was extremely good, and when Adele suggested that we should eat our lunch, I agreed quite cheerfully.

The suggestion, however, that I should feed Berry proved impracticable.

After four endeavours to introduce one end of a _pet.i.t pain_ into his mouth--

"Would it be asking too much," said my brother-in-law, "if I suggested that you should suspend this a.s.sault? I don't know what part of your face you eat with, but I usually use my mouth. I admit it's a bit of a rosebud, but that's no excuse for all these 'outers.' Yes, I know it's a scream, but I was once told never to put _foie gras_ upon the nose or cheeks. They say it draws the skin. Oh, and don't let's have any comic nonsense about the beer," he added shortly. "Pour it straight into my breast-pocket and have done with it. Then I can suck my handkerchief."

As he spoke, n.o.bby leaned forward and took the dishevelled sandwich out of my unready fingers.

"That's right," added Berry, with the laugh of a maniac. "Cast my portion to the dogs." He dabbed his face with a handkerchief. "Never mind. When his hour comes, you'll have to hold him out of the window.

I'm not going to stop every time he wants to be sick."

Eventually it was decided that, since we should have to stop for petrol, Berry must seize that opportunity to devour some food.

"Besides," I concluded, "a rest of a quarter of an hour will do you good."

As the words left my mouth, I noticed for the first time that my brother-in-law was tiring.

For the moment I thought I was mistaken, for upon our previous runs he had never turned a hair. Now, however, he seemed to be driving with an effort. As if to confirm my suspicions, at the very next hill he missed his change.

"I think," I said quickly, "you ought to have your lunch right away.

It's no good getting done in for want of food."

Berry shot me a pathetic glance.

"It isn't that, old chap. It's---- Hang it all, it's my shoulder!

That cursed muscular rheumatism cropped up again yesterday...."

The murder was out.

After a little he admitted that, ever since we had left Poitiers, any quick movement of his left arm had caused him intense pain.

Of course both Adele and I besought him to stop there and then and let the race go to blazes. Of this he would not hear, declaring that, so long as Jonah was behind, victory was not out of sight, and that nothing short of paralysis would induce him to jilt the jade. After a little argument, we let him have his way ...

The road continued to offer an abominable pa.s.sage, and when we stopped at a garage in Bordeaux, it was five minutes to three of a beautiful afternoon.

The third bidon was discharging its contents into Pong's tank, and Berry was sitting wearily upon the running-board, with his mouth full and a gla.s.s of beer in his hand, when, with an apologetic cough, Ping emerged from behind an approaching tram and slid past us over the cobbles with a smooth rush. The off-side window was open, and, as the car went by, Jonah waved to us.

There was no doubt about it, my cousin was out to win. It was also transparently clear that Adele and I, at any rate, had lost our money.

We could not compete with an average of thirty-six miles an hour.

"Boy!"

"Yes, darling?"

"Is that the last _bidon_?"

"Yes. But Berry won't have finished for at least ten minutes.

Besides----"

"Couldn't I drive for a bit, just till he's finished his lunch?"

I stared at my wife. Then--

"I don't see why you shouldn't, dear, except that the streets of Bordeaux are rather rough on a beginner."

"I'll be very careful," pleaded Adele, "and--and, after all, we shall be moving. And it can't affect the bets. Nothing was said about Berry having to drive."

I smiled ruefully.

"As far as the bets are concerned, we might as well stay here the night. We've got a hundred and fifty miles in front of us, and seven hours--five of them after dark--to do them in. Berry's shoulder has put the lid on. We shan't get in before midnight."

"You never know," said Adele.

Berry suspended the process of mastication to put his oar in.