Fairfax watched and waited with an eye on the clock. So did Beringhampton. The latter’s chauffeur had a very bad time. It was not, of course, his fault that the officials declared their intention of disembarking the cars as they came. Neither, indeed, was it his fault that, when the cars were ashore, a certain necessary officer was not forthcoming. Yet he paid for this, as did the A.A. man—generously. The idea of waiting till seven did not appeal to Beringhampton—nor, for the matter of that, to Punch, either. Still, the latter kept his temper and cursed with a smile on his lips. . . . While Beringhampton stalked off the quay in search of a lodging, Fairfax took off his coat and went over his car. Not so the Marquess’ chauffeur. After asking Punch if he could be of any assistance, the latter climbed into his charge and endeavoured to sleep. Injustice makes a bad servant. It also may do a rival a very good turn. It did—that Monday morning. Of the five cars to be cleared the grey two-seater was the first inspected and the Hispano-Suiza the fifth. Beringhampton raged. Then a tire was found flat, and the wheel had to be changed. . . . While Punch was clear of Dieppe by seven-fifteen, it was half-past eight ere the other took the road. A start of fifty miles was not to be sneezed at, but the ghastly delay of more than two hours had altered everything. Fairfax knew in his heart that his chances of reaching Biarritz upon the right side of midnight were very small. If he could average forty the whole of the way, well and very good. Otherwise, any interview he might have with Athalia would take place the following day. She kept late hours, certainly, but not so late as all that. On the other hand, barring accidents, there was no reason at all why a clear eye and a determined arm should not bring the Hispano-Suiza to Biarritz by nine o’clock. The devil of it was that Beringhampton must know that, if he but pleased to hurry, he could have the field to himself. The three hours lost would have been of no use to him. Had he arrived at six, by the time he had changed, Miss Choate would have gone to dress, and thence to dinner. Not till, say, half-past nine would he have had a look-in. And by then Fairfax might have come up to cramp his style. But now, if he pleased, he could have the field to himself. . . . Punch swore beneath his breath and coaxed the grey two-seater to sixty-two. He ran into Rouen as clocks were striking eight, and, meeting the river, followed it out of the town. Past a quarry and up through the rising woods, over the glittering Seine, through Pont-de-l’Arche, by Louviers’ precious church, into mitred Evreux, where the broad road splits into a delta of aged streets, up over the railway and on to the rolling plain the grey two-seater flung like a thing possessed.