(3) A picture-postcard fashioned in silk, with tropical birds and
flowers, clasped hands, crossed Union Jacks and the legend "TRUE LOVE"
embroidered thereon.

(4) A handful of cotton waste.

(5) Some brandy-balls.

(6) An oil-can.

(7) The ace of spades.

(8) The portrait (tin-type) of a lady, inscribed "With kind regards
from Lizzie."

(9) A stick of chewing gum.

(10) A mouse (defunct).

(11) A second slip of paper.

He grunted with satisfaction, replaced his treasures carefully in the
pouches and handed the last-named item to me. It read to the effect
that both he and his car were at my disposal for the day. I wriggled
into a coat and followed him out to where his chariot awaited us.

I never pretended to be a judge of motor vehicles, but it does not
need an expert to detect a Drift when he sees one; they have a leggy,
herring-gutted appearance all their own. Where it was not dented in
it bulged out; most of those little knick-knacks that really nice
cars have were missing, and its complexion had peeled off in erratic
designs such as Royal Academicians used to smear on transports to
make U-Boaters imagine they were seeing things they shouldn't and lead
better lives.

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
_pave_, the screen suddenly detached itself from its perch and flopped
into our laps.

However, the car put in some fast work between our chateau 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,