e
a private racing-track was worse than "pulling."

Fired by Jonah's example, Berry laid hold of the wheel, and we took the
next hill at twenty-five.

It was a brilliant day, but the cold was intense, and I think we were
all glad that Pong was a closeable car. That Winter's reign had begun
was most apparent. There was a bleak look upon the country's face:
birch-rods that had been poplars made us gaunt avenues: here and there
the cold jewellery of frost was sparkling. I fell to wondering how far
south we must go to find it warmer.

Presently we came to Montreuil.

As we entered the little town--

"This," said I, "was the headquarters of the British Expeditionary
Force. From behind these walls----"

"Don't talk," said Daphne, "or I shall make a mistake. Round to the
left here. Wait a minute. No, that's right. And straight on. What a
blessing this _Michelin Guide_ is! Not too fast, Berry. Straight on.
This ought to be _Grande Rue_." She peered out of the window. "Yes,
that's right. Now, in a minute you turn to the left...."

After all, I reflected, we had to get to Rouen, and it was past mid-day.

We had sworn not to lunch before we had passed Abbeville, so, since we
had breakfasted betimes, I furtively encouraged my brother-in-law to
"put her along." His response was to overtake and pass a lorry upon
the wrong side, drive an unsuspecting bicyclist into a ditch and
swerve, like a drunken sea-gull, to avoid a dead fowl. As we were
going over forty it was all over before we knew where we were, but the
impression of impending death was vivid and lasting, and nearly a
minute had elapsed before I could trust my voice.

"Are we still alive?" breathed Daphne. "I'm afraid to open my eyes."

"I think we must be," said I. "At least, I'm still thirsty, if that's
anything to go by."

"I consider," said Berry, "that the way in which I extricated us from
that _impasse_ was little short of masterly. That cyclist ought to
remember me in his prayers."

"I don't want to discourage you," I said grimly, "but I shouldn't bank
on it."

The plan of Abbeville, printed in the Guide, was as simple to read as
were my sister's directions to follow. At a critical moment, however,
Berry felt unable to turn to the right.

"The trouble is," he explained, as we plunged into a maze of back
streets, "I've only got two hands and feet. To have got round that
corner, I should have had to take out the clutch, go into third