Free Four Strange Women by E.R. Punshon Page A

small, merely the few words and phrases an old nurse had taught him, but he knew enough to recognize both the language and the song. An odd incident, he thought idly, and an odd choice of a song outside a public-house door in the English midlands. The car moved on and soon Biddle drew up. The colonel got out, telling Bobby to wait. He came back presently with a uniform man, a sergeant, who took his place beside Biddle. The colonel got in, too. The car started. The colonel said:—
    â€œThey’ve done as much as they can. Inspector Morris is on duty. He is on the spot. Sergeant Rich knows where it is and he’ll take us there. Morris rang up the superintendent—Oxley his name is. I expect he’ll be there before us.”
    The colonel took out a cigar, relapsed into silence. Bobby asked no questions. He wondered if it was only fancy that made him feel his companion’s uneasiness was increasing, increasing in proportion as they drew nearer the scene of the fire. Was he dreading what they might find there? To Bobby it seemed that the whole interior of the car throbbed, as it were, with wave upon wave of anguished terror. He stole a look at the colonel’s face, calm enough to all appearance; indeed, Bobby thought, almost unnaturally so with a calmness that gave an impression of fierce and intense effort.
    â€œHe’ll see it through, whatever it is,” Bobby told himself; and in his thoughts used the French phrase ‘jusqu’au bout,’ telling himself again that what that end might show itself to be, would make no difference.
    The car left behind the lights of the town, of the suburbs. It was travelling through complete darkness now, along unlighted country roads, and yet at a high rate of speed. There were no stars visible, the moon had not yet risen, the clouds hung low and heavy, letting escape now and again a splutter of rain. The only light came from the headlamps, throwing their powerful beams before as the great car crashed through the still darkness of the night. Presently the car left the smooth and well made road which hitherto it had followed and began to swing and lurch on a rougher track. Its speed did not diminish. The lamps picked out great trees that stood on each side, crowding in on them, bending above them, stretching down their branches as if to clutch at them as they sped by. The colonel muttered suddenly:—
    â€œThis damn cigar won’t draw.”
    Bobby thought it might be more tactful not to point out that this was because the cigar had never been lighted. The remark had not been addressed to him and he need not have heard it. The colonel said in a surprised tone:—
    â€œOh, I never lighted it.”
    He put it back in his case. A specially severe jolt nearly threw them into each other’s arms. Bobby could hear the sergeant appealing under his breath to his Maker. They had left even the rough track they had been following before and now were bumping over what seemed merely a footpath. Colonel Glynne leaned forward and said gently:—
    â€œI don’t want a spill, Biddle, but if you can go faster, do so.”
    â€œVery good, sir,” said Biddle, and charged and smashed down a young tree in quite the best manner of the tank corps.
    Bobby held firmly to his seat and hoped for the best, little as he expected it. Sergeant Rich’s appeal for the protection of heaven grew more audible. The car, probably thinking it had been entered for a hurdle race, did its best to show what it could do in that way. In a voice full of relief, Rich said:—
    â€œThere we are, over there, look. Steady on, mate, we’re nearly there.”
    Biddle’s response was to accelerate. His headlamps had shown him a comparatively open stretch of ground. He charged straight across it; hitting, Bobby was convinced, every stone, every tree stump, every hole or mound that existed in the whole world. Nevertheless, everything held, not a single spring broke.