Red In The Morning by Dornford Yates Read Free Book Online

close to Gedge. He might have the faster car, for Bell had suggested that it must have been ‘specially tuned’: but that any one of the four could drive a car as could Audrey, I simply did not believe.
    Mansel rounded a bend at eighty, passed a car which was passing a char-à-banc, ‘cut in’ between two waggons of six wheels each and put the Rolls at a hill at ninety-six. There were nine cars using that hill: three were coming towards us, and six were going our way. Mansel went by in the middle, as though they were, none of them, there. As we swung to the right, at the top, I turned to look back for Carson: there were then ten cars on that hill, of which Carson’s made one. And the French do not drive slowly.
    “I hope you feel better,” said Mansel. “I know I do. That fellow’s report was a tonic. And unless that Lowland’s a winner, we must be coming up.”
    “I do feel better,” I said. “And my brain’s more clear. And now listen. Ahead of us is Libourne – some forty miles off. If I were Gedge, I’d avoid a town of that size.”
    “So,” said Mansel, “should I. If he knows where he is, the fellow will turn at Mielle. To the left, of course. He’s obviously driving south.”
    “I agree. But we can’t be sure. If he has perceived that the Bagots are on his tail, he may do anything.”
    “Except turn north,” said Mansel. “Twist and double, perhaps: but he’ll always bear south.”
    I thought this was sound, and said so: but when we had covered another three miles in two minutes, only to be checked in a village and lose the time we had won, my desperation came back, as clouds return after the rain.
    Check or no, we must have gained on the others: with ordinary luck, we should sight them before they could reach Mielle – provided that they did not turn off before they came to that place : but Mielle was twenty miles distant, and in those twenty miles there were at least three crossroads running east and west.
    As though he had read my thoughts –
    “Unless,” said Mansel, “unless we are checked again, I think that we ought to turn off before we get to Mielle. I decline to believe that they’re moving as fast as we – they’re meeting checks, too, you know. There are crossroads at Balet: that’s nine – no eight miles ahead. If we haven’t caught them by Balet, I’ll swear they’re not on this road.” He cornered perfectly – not skirting the side of the road, but skirting the side of a swift-moving limousine, flashed between two lorries and raced for a level crossing on which a furniture van was bearing down. As we whipped across the bows of the van and over the rails, “I suggest,” he went on, “that we should turn east at Balet. What do you think?”
    “I think so. And Carson, too, It’s no good his going on; and if Gedge is southward bound, he’s sure to turn east; otherwise he’d find himself faced with threading Libourne or Bordeaux.”
    “True,” said Mansel. “And then?”
    “Look at it this way,” I said. “If we haven’t caught up by Balet, they’ve either turned at Balet or turned before.”
    “At Poule,” said Mansel. “That’s just about two miles on. If we go on to Balet, but Carson–”
    “I think that’s them,” I cried. “Them, or the Bagots. Steady. They’re slowing down… Petrol, They’re stopping for petrol. My God, if it’s…”
    Before the Lowland had stopped, I saw John Bagot fling out and rush to the back of the car. Before he had the cap off the tank, we had drawn alongside.
    Mansel addressed Audrey Bagot, white as a sheet.
    “Were they in your view?” he said.
    “Jonah! Thank God! Yes, yes. They’ve only just rounded that bend.”
    “Their number?”
    “Six two four two.”
    “Carson’s behind,” said Mansel. “Tell him to turn east at Poule. Report by wire to Orthez and Auch. You go on to Libourne.”
    And then we were gone.
    We had lost twenty seconds, perhaps – no more than that. But that is a lot to make up in