ge was finally strapped into place and
my brother-in-law climbed into the car. With a sigh for a bad
beginning, I reflected that if we could not cover the two-hundred and
twenty odd miles in twelve and a quarter hours, we ought to be shot.

Jonah stood by, watch in hand.

"Are you ready?" he said.

I nodded.

"Right," said my cousin. "I'm not sure we've picked the best route,
but it's too late now. No divergence allowed."

"I agree."

"And you don't drive."

"It's out of the question."

"Right. Like to double the bets?"

"No," said Adele, "they wouldn't. I won't allow it. But I'll bet with
you. I can't afford much, but I'll bet you a hundred francs we're
there before you."

"I'll give you tens," said my cousin. "And I start in one hour from
_Now_!"

When I say that, upon the word being given, Pong, whose manners had
been hitherto above reproach, utterly refused to start or be started,
it will be seen that Fate was against us....

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 ou