To these questions his secretary only replied by nervous jerks of the head as he drove on straight through the darkness. His anxiety was betrayed by the forward bend of his body and the anxious tightening of his brows. He had hoped, perhaps, before he had sent the telegram to be in time. That was now past praying for, but they might at least turn the confusion of the meeting into a success if only they could make the lights of London by nine. He pushed the car to its utmost limits of speed, careless of the thick blackness and of the perpetual windings of the lanes which he followed with singular confidence. They passed over a railway line, but there was no station in sight; they went on and passed another in the same fashion, then a broad river. At last the motion showed them they were taking yet another long hill. There was no hedge upon either side, open fields, down; and a bitter wind driving across them filled the night. It was even too dark to perceive more than the ghosts of the clouds, when, at what seemed the loneliest part of this lonely countryside the machine stopped suddenly, and Charlie Fitzgerald, in a voice of weary despair, muttered half to himself and half to his companion: "If it's the king-bolt, we're done!" He took one of the lanterns from the front of the car, put it down upon the ground where it would illumine the complicated works beneath, and lying flat upon his back on the road, he began to inspect the damage. Mr. Clutterbuck, stooping anxiously with hands on knees, interrogated him from time to time, but received only disjointed replies in which king-bolts, the differential, the clutch and Beeton's Patent played a confused part. After some few minutes of this investigation Charlie Fitzgerald reappeared, replaced the lamp, and said in a solemn manner: "We're cooked!" It began to snow. If Mr. Clutterbuck had had the slightest idea where he was, his dolour might have been to that amount relieved. He had none. He looked at his watch by the acetylene flare and found that it was nearly ten o'clock. The monotony of their misfortune was relieved by the approach of a horse and cart, and they learned from the driver at last the full extent of their misfortune. They had the choice, it seemed, of two resting-places that night, equally distant, one was Stow-in-the-Wold; and the only consolation the situation could offer them was the certainty that their car had done very well to cover such a distance in such weather in such a time. For the rest, eight miles in the dark was not a pleasing prospect, and Charlie Fitzgerald was moved to make one more attempt at reviving the car. To Mr. Clutterbuck's astonishment the able young fellow succeeded this time within a very few moments. They continued the main road and reached their inn a little before eleven. * * * * * Meanwhile in London the meeting had, indeed, pursued a course Mr. Clutterbuck did not in the least desire. CHAPTER XIV