He cut through the hills to Market Saffron along a lane-road with which he was unfamiliar.  It began to go up hill.  He explained to Mr. Direck how admirably his engine would climb hills on the top gear.

They took a curve and the hill grew steeper, and Mr. Direck opened the throttle.

They rounded another corner, and still more steeply the hill rose before them.

The engine began to make a chinking sound, and the car lost pace.  And then Mr. Britling saw a pleading little white board with the inscription “Concealed Turning.”  For the moment he thought a turning might be concealed anywhere.  He threw out his clutch and clapped on his brake.  Then he repented of what he had done.  But the engine, after three Herculean throbs, ceased to work.  Mr. Britling with a convulsive clutch at his steering wheel set the electric hooter snarling, while one foot released the clutch again and the other, on the accelerator, sought in vain for help.  Mr. Direck felt they were going back, back, in spite of all this vocalisation.  He clutched at the emergency brake.  But he was too late to avoid misfortune.  With a feeling like sitting gently in butter, the car sank down sideways and stopped with two wheels in the ditch.

Mr. Britling said they were in the ditch—­said it with quite unnecessary violence....

This time two cart horses and a retinue of five men were necessary to restore Gladys to her self-respect....

After that they drove on to Market Saffron, and got there in time for lunch, and after lunch Mr. Direck explored the church and the churchyard and the parish register....

After lunch Mr. Britling became more cheerful about his driving.  The road from Market Saffron to Blandish, whence one turns off to Matching’s Easy, is the London and Norwich high road; it is an old Roman Stane Street and very straightforward and honest in its stretches.  You can see the cross roads half a mile away, and the low hedges give you no chance of a surprise.  Everybody is cheered by such a road, and everybody drives more confidently and quickly, and Mr. Britling particularly was heartened by it and gradually let out Gladys from the almost excessive restriction that had hitherto marked the day.  “On a road like this nothing can happen,” said Mr. Britling.

“Unless you broke an axle or burst a tyre,” said Mr. Direck.

“My man at Matching’s Easy is most careful in his inspection,” said Mr. Britling, putting the accelerator well down and watching the speed indicator creep from forty to forty-five.  “He went over the car not a week ago.  And it’s not one month old—­in use that is.”

Yet something did happen.