above your head and walk backwards. And remember, one false step and you're a dead man.'
Mr Blowther stared into the darkness behind the great headlamps incredulously. 'Listen, mate,' he said, 'If you think I'm going to stick my hands in the air and try to walk anywhere on this grease pan and not be a dead man, you've got another think coming.'
'I shall count to ten,' said Glodstone grimly, 'One, two...' But Mr Blowther had had enough. He had been through a terrible car crash and was now in the middle of a second inexplicable nightmare. He moved. To be precise he slid sideways and landed on his shoulder before rolling back into the ditch. As he went the Bentley started forward into the oil and, skidding this way and that, disappeared round the corner. Thanks to this veering and the erratic swing of the headlamps, Glodstone was spared the sight of the wrecked Jaguar among the trees and of the distraught Mrs Blowther searching in the debris for her handbag and a handkerchief with which to blow the nose of a little Blowther. All his energies were concentrated on keeping the Bentley on the road.
'By God,' he said, when the car finally steadied itself, 'that was a damned near thing. It only goes to show the sort of swine we're up against.'
'Do you think they'll come after us?' asked Peregrine hopefully, toying with a revolver.
'Certain to,' said Glodstone, 'But we'll give them a run for their money. There's a crossroads coming up and I'm going to go left. From now on we'll drive straight through the night.'
Behind them, Slymne was struggling with two empty oil cans and his conscience. From Mr Blowther's vehement opinions and Mrs Blowther's complaints about using foul language in front of the children, he had gathered that, although he had been responsible for wrecking a very fine motor car, the occupants had somehow managed to escape unhurt. It was small consolation. The police would undoubtedly be called to the scene and it would be extremely difficult to explain his presence there or his possession of the oil cans, two kilos of sugar and a large quantity of nails. Worse still, he had the crested notepaper and the notes he had made for Glodstone's premeditated adventure in his suitcase. In the circumstances it seemed wisest to make himself scarce as quickly as possible.
Under cover of the Blowthers' acrimony, he stumbled back to the Citroen, put the cans in the boot and, driving without lights, followed the road by the gap of night sky between the trees. Ten miles further on, he wiped the oil cans clean of fingerprints, dumped them over a bridge into the river and buried his handkerchief in a ditch. To make doubly sure, he poured the sugar into the river too and drove on another mile before disposing of the nails. Finally he burnt the rest of the notepaper and the envelopes, and drove back to Mantes considering extradition treaties. For the first time in his life, Slymne was definitely against them. He was also very much against remaining in France. Whatever Glodstone might find when he reached the Chateau and even if he still had the forged letters in his possessions, Slymne and no intention of spending time in a French prison for destroying a car and endangering life. It seemed best to leave the Citroen at the garage and drive like hell for Calais in his own Cortina. With any luck, he would be across the Channel and safely home in Ramsgate before the police had made any headway in their investigations. And so Slymne drove quietly into Mantes and spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep in the forecourt of the rent-a-car garage. At eight that morning, he was on the road for Calais.
Far to the south, the Bentley was still covering ground. Glodstone finally pulled into the side of a very minor road and yawned.
'We seem to have lost them,' said Peregrine, who had spent the night peering over the back of the car in the hope of taking a shot at their pursuers.
'Not the only thing we've lost,' said Glodstone gloomily looking at the map. 'I suppose we can find where we are when we come to the next town. All the same, we're not out of the wood yet.'
'Aren't we?' said Peregrine, too literally for Glodstone's taste. 'I mean we can see for miles
