not much room, and the roller was ponderously closing in, but
with a protruding tongue our luckless chauffeur crept slowly past the
monster in safety, and a moment later we were scudding up the Poitiers
road.

Now that we were clear of the town, we set to work diligently. Adele
pored over the map and the Michelin Guide; Berry turned himself into a
mechanical doll; and I maintained a steady issue of orders until my
throat was sore.

The weather was fair and the going was good. Her new-born stiffness
beginning to wear off, Pong went better than ever. Berry excelled
himself.

With every kilometre we covered my spirits rose, and when we overtook
Jonah on the outskirts of Chatellerault, I could have flung up my cap.

The latter was clearly immensely surprised to see us, and when we
stopped, as was our custom, at a _charcuterie_ to buy our lunch, and
Ping had followed our example, leaned out of his window and asked me
pointedly whether my leg was yet stiff.

Concealing a smile, I regretted that it was.

Jonah fingered his chin.

"Of course," he said warily, "it's a condition precedent that you don't
drive to-morrow."

"Of course," I agreed.

The confession of uneasiness, however, did my heart good. It was plain
that my imperturbable cousin was getting nervous.

As we moved off again--

"We must lunch soon," said Berry. "My mouth's watering so fast, I
can't keep up with it."

I patted Adele's arm.

"Now you know the way to his heart," I said. "Straight through the
stomach, and----"

"But how gross!" said Berry. "And how untrue! Naturally ascetic, but
for the insistence of my physicians, I should long ago have let my hair
grow and subsisted entirely on locusts and motionless lemonade. But a
harsh Fate ruled otherwise. Excuse me, but I think that that there
basket or ark in which the comfort is enshrined is rather near the
conduit through which flows that sparkling liquid which, when vapoured,
supplies our motive power. And _foie gras_ is notoriously susceptible
to the baneful influence of neighbouring perfumes. Thank you. If
those bits of heaven were to taste of petrol, it would shorten my life.
And now, where was I?"

I turned to Adele.

"He's off," said I. "The prospect of gluttony always loosens his
tongue. There's really only one way to stop him. What about lunching
at the top of this hill? Or can you bear it till we've passed
Poitiers?"

A mischievous look came into Adele's brown