With such driving he was quite willing to believe that they would see Cherbourg or Heaven by midnight if not before; always, of course, providing...

For the first three hours Leon stood the pace well.  Then nerves or physical endurance began to fail, he dropped back, and the Delorme touring car was thereafter seldom visible.

No more, for that matter, was the grey shadow.  Lanyard’s forecast seemed to be borne out by its conduct:  Dupont was biding his time and would undoubtedly attempt nothing before nightfall.  In the meantime he was making no effort to do more than keep step with the limousine, but at a decent distance.  Only occasionally when, for this reason or that, Jules was obliged to run at reduced speed for several minutes on end, the grey car would draw into sight, always, however, about a mile behind the Delorme touring car.

At about seven they dined on the wing, from the hamper which, with Liane’s jewel case in its leather disguise of a simple travelling bag, constituted all the limousine’s load of luggage.  Lanyard passed sandwiches through the front window to Jules, who munched them while driving like a speed maniac, and with the same appalling nonchalance washed them down with a tumbler of champagne.  Then he discovered some manner of sorcerous power over matches in the wind, lighted a cigarette, and signalised his sense of refreshment by smoothly edging the indicator needle up toward the eighty notch, where he held it stationary until Lanyard and Liane with one accord begged him to consider their appetites.

At eight o’clock they were passing through Lisieux, one hundred and eighteen miles from Paris.

Lanyard made mental calculations.

“The light will hold till after nine,” he informed Liane.  “By that time we shall have left Caen behind.”

“I understand,” she said coolly; “it will be, then, after Caen.”

“Presumably.”

“Another hour of peace of mind!” She yawned delicately.  “I think—­I am bored by this speed—­I think I shall have a nap.”

Composedly she arranged pillows, put her pretty feet upon the jewel case and, turning her face from Lanyard, dozed.

“I think,” he reflected, “that the world is more rich in remarkable women than in remarkable men!”

A luminous lilac twilight vied with the street lamps of Caen when the limousine rolled through the city at moderate speed.  Lanyard utilized this occasion to confer with Jules through the window.

“Beyond the town,” he said, “you will stop just round the first suitable turning, so that we can’t be seen before the corner is turned.  Draw off to the side of the road and—­I think it would be advisable to have a little engine trouble.”

“Very good, sir,” said Jules without looking round.  Then he added in a voice of complete respect:  “Pardon, sir, but—­madame’s orders?”

“If they are not”—­Lanyard was nettled—­“she will countermand them.”