I have betrayed myself? If these people have discovered
my identity? If, knowing that I am not Vinson, but Fandor, they have made
me put on uniform, placed in the car with me a compromising portion of a
gun, and are going to hand me over to the military authorities, either at
Rouen, or elsewhere?"

The abbe, comfortably ensconced in the corner, was slumbering again.

Fandor cast stealthy glances at his companion, considering him
carefully.

Now he came to examine him, surely this priest's face had a queer
look?... The eyebrows were too regular ... painted?... How delicate
his skin?... Not the slightest trace of a beard?... A shoe--the
traditional silver-buckled shoe of the priest--was visible below the
cassock.... That was all right ... but, how slender his ankle?...

Fandor pulled himself up. What would he imagine next? True, he was
wise to suspect everything, everybody--test them, try them--in this
terrible position he had got himself into, nevertheless, he must keep
a clear head.

The car was passing through a village. The abbe opened his eyes.

"Monsieur l'Abbe," declared Fandor, "I am frozen to death. Would you
object to our stopping a minute so that I might swallow a glass of
rum?"

The abbe signalled the driver. The car stopped before a little inn.
The innkeeper appeared.

"Bring the driver a cognac!" ordered the priest. "Give Monsieur a
glass of rum. You may pour me out a glass of aniseed cordial."

"Aniseed cordial!" thought Fandor. "That is a liqueur for priests,
youths, and women!"

"In an hour," said the abbe, "we shall be at Rouen. We shall pass
through the town; a few kilometres further on, at Barentin, we shall
halt for the night.... I know a very good little hotel there!"

Fandor refrained from comment. What he thought was:

"A fig for Barentin!... If I see the least sign that this little
fellow is going to give me the slip, leave me for a minute--if it
looks as though he were going to warn the authorities--I know someone
who will take to flight ... and how!"...

XX

MAN OR WOMAN

Kilometres succeeded kilometres in endless procession. Ceaselessly the
landscapes unrolled themselves like views on a cinema film. Swiftly,
regularly, relentlessly, the car sped forward. Again the priest, with
half-closed eyes, snuggled into his cushions.

Fandor felt strangely drowsy. This was due, he thought, to the long
journey in the open air, and to a nervous fatigue induced by the tense
emot