The eleven officers had their luncheon served in the restaurant proper; the chauffeurs were served in a smaller room adjoining, looking out on to the front and the road. The landlord had been instructed (and had been well paid in advance for this and other little services) to ply these two worthy fellows with as much liquor as they could hold, with the result that they were deep in their cups long before the boisterous officers had got through their coffee and liqueurs. They were in such an advanced state of intoxication, indeed, that they took no heed when a singular silence followed the noise of voices and laughter in the adjoining room; and it was not until the appointed hour for departure had long since passed that they recovered their senses sufficiently to learn the truth. Their erstwhile "joy riders" had flown! They might have been seen, fully three-quarters of an hour before, strolling down the garden and making their way, as unobstrusively as possible, across the fields to the countryside railway station, where, provided beforehand with tickets for different stations on the line to Vigo, they boarded the train, once more in as nonchalant a manner as possible in groups of twos and threes, in different carriages. By the time the chauffeurs came to their senses and realized they had been fooled, the fugitives were well out of danger and, having got together again at the first big stopping-place, had put themselves _en règle_ as regards through tickets for their common destination, to which they continued to travel, however, separately, in order to minimize the risks of capture. The outwitted chauffeurs had another unpleasant surprise on rushing to their cars, with the object of dashing back to Pampeluna and recounting to the authorities their sorry tale of misadventure. Though they cranked their machines like madmen, the motors stubbornly refused to work. The reason soon became evident: the sparking-plugs had been removed by the far-seeing Koch.