make sure they wouldn't come this way. Went down-river a couple of miles and found an old man who'd been fishing so I stuffed those clothes in the bag of his moped and waited until he rode off. That'll keep them busy for a couple of hours. Then I had to swim about a bit before doubling back. Didn't want to leave my own trail.'
'Go and shift those trees,' said Glodstone, getting out and shutting the shed doors. The countess climbed into the back seat and five minutes later they were on the road. On the wrong side.
'Drive on the right for Chrissake,' squawked the Countess. 'We aren't in England and at this rate we won't be. And where do you think you're going?'
'Back to Calais,' said Glodstone.
'So why are we on the road to Spain?'
'I just thought...' said Glodstone, who was too exhausted to.
'From now on, don't,' said the Countess. 'Leave the brainwork to me. Spain might not be such a bad idea, but the frontier's the first one they'll watch.'
'Why's that?' asked Peregrine.
'Because, dumkopf, it's the closest. So Calais makes a weird sort of sense. Only trouble is, can Old Father Time here last out that far without writing us all off?'
'Of course I can,' said Glodstone, stung into wakefulness by the insult.
'Then turn left at the next fork. And give me that map.'
For a few miles she pored over it while Glodstone concentrated on keeping to the right. 'Now then,' said the Countess, when they had swung onto a road that led through thick oak woods, 'the next question is, did anyone round here see this car when you came down?'
'I shouldn't have thought so. We did the last two hundred miles at night and we were on roads to the South.'
'Good. That's a bonus. So the car's not what they're going to be looking for. It's clean and it's too conspicuous to be likely for a getaway. But if they do stop us those guns are going to put you inside for a long, long time. So you'll ditch them, and not in any river. The flics have a penchant for looking under bridges.'
'What's a penchant?' asked Peregrine.
'What those gendarmes didn't have when you blew that van up. Now shut up,' said Glodstone.
'Yes, but if we get rid of the guns we won't have anything to defend ourselves with and anyway they're supposed to go back in the School Armoury.'
Glodstone's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. 'Listen, you damned moron,' he snarled, 'hasn't it got through your thick skull yet that we aren't going to get back to the school unless we use our wits? We'll be doing life plus thirty year in some foul French jail for murder.'
'Murder?' said Peregrine, clearly puzzled. 'But we killed some swine and '
'And however many gendarmes you blew out of that truck. That's all! So keep your murderous little trap shut and do what the Countess tells you.'
In the back seat the Countess listened to the exchange with interest. It was beginning to dawn on her that, by comparison with Peregrine, Glodstone was practically a genius. More to the point, he was frightened and prepared to follow her orders. 'Stop the car here,' she said to test her authority, 'and switch the motor off.'
Glodstone did so and looked at her questioningly.
'This is a good a spot as any,' she said after they had sat in silence for a minute listening. 'Now then, you, trot off into the wood a couple of hundred metres and bury those gats before anyone comes.'
Peregrine looked at Glodstone. 'Must I?' he asked. But the look on Glodstone's face was enough.
'Not a very advanced form of life,' said the Countess when he'd gone. Glodstone didn't reply.
