“Are you on the side of the manufacturers?” I asked my friend.
“Oh, Lord, that’s a matter of taste, so we can leave it out of account—though now you mention it, I rather think we might take the other side, since at bottom it’s all the same, of course. I’m a theologian and my predecessor, Luther, took the side of the princes and plutocrats against the peasants. So now we’ll establish the balance a little. This rotten car, I hope she’ll hold out another mile or two.”
Swift as the wind, that child of heaven, we rattled on, and reached a green and peaceful countryside many miles distant. We traversed a wide plain and then slowly climbed into the mountains. Here we made a halt on a smooth and glistening road that led in bold curves between the steep wall of rock and the low retaining wall. Far below shone the blue surface of a lake.
“Lovely view,” said I.
“Very pretty. We’ll call it the Axle Way. A good many axles of one sort or another are going to crash here, Harry, my boy. So watch out!”
A tall pine grew by the roadside, and among the tall branches we saw something like a little hut made of boards to serve as an outlook and point of vantage. Gustav smiled with a knowing twinkle in his blue eyes. We hurried out of the car, climbed up the trunk and, breathing hard, concealed ourselves in the outlook post, which pleased us much. We found rifles and revolvers there and boxes of ammunition. We had scarcely cooled down when we heard the hoarse imperious hoot of a large touring-car from the next bend of the road. It came purring at top speed up the smooth road. Our rifles were ready in our hands. The excitement was intense.
“Aim at the chauffeur,” commanded Gustav quickly just as the heavy car went by beneath us. I aimed, and fired at the chauffeur in his blue cap. The man fell in a heap. The car careened on, charged the cliff face, rebounded, attacked the lower wall furiously with all its unwieldy weight like a great bumble bee and, tumbling over, crashed with a brief and distant report into the depths below.
“Got him!” Gustav laughed. “My turn next.”
Another came as he spoke. There were three or four occupants packed in the back seat. From the head of a woman a bright blue veil streamed out behind. It filled me with genuine remorse. Who could say how pretty a face it might adorn? Good God, though we did play the brigand we might at least emulate the illustrious and spare pretty women. Gustav, however, had already fired. The driver shuddered and collapsed. The car leapt against the perpendicular cliff, fell back and overturned, wheels uppermost. Its engine was still running and the wheels turned absurdly in the air; but suddenly with a frightful explosion it burst into flames.
“A Ford,” said Gustav. “We must get down and clear the road.”
We climbed down and watched the burning heap. It soon burnt out. Meanwhile we made levers of green wood and hoisted it to the side of the road and over the wall into the abyss, where for a long time it went crashing through the undergrowth. Two of the dead bodies had fallen out as we turned the car over and lay on the road with their clothing partly burnt. One wore a pretty good coat. I searched the pockets to see who he was. A leather case came to hand with some cards in it. I took one and read: Tat Twam Asi.
“Very witty,” said Gustav. “Though, as a matter of fact, it is all one what our victims are called. They’re poor devils just as we are. Their names don’t matter. This world is done for and so are we. The least painful solution would be to hold it under water for ten minutes. Now to work—”
We threw the bodies after the car. Already another one was tooting. We shot it down with a volley where we stood. It made a drunken swerve and reeled on for a stretch, then turned over and lay gasping. One passenger was still sitting inside, but a pretty young girl got out uninjured, though she was white and trembling violently. We greeted her politely and offered our assistance. She was too much shaken to speak and stared at us for a while quite dazed.
“Well, first let us look after the old boy,” said Gustav and turned to the occupant of the car who still clung to his seat behind the chauffeur. He was a gentleman with short grey hair. His intelligent, clear grey eyes were open, but he seemed to be seriously hurt; at least, blood flowed from his mouth and he held his neck askew and rigid.
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gustav. We have taken the liberty of shooting your chauffeur. May we inquire whom we have the honour to address?”
The old man looked at us coolly and sadly out of his small grey eyes.
“I am the Attorney-General Loering,” he said slowly. “You have not only killed my poor chauffeur, but me too, I fancy. Why did you shoot on us?”
“For exceeding the speed limit.”
“We were not travelling at more than normal speed.”
“What was normal yesterday is no longer normal today, Mr. Attorney-General. We are of the opinion that whatever speed a motorcar travels is too great. We are destroying all motorcars and all other machines also.”
“Your rifles too?”
“Their turn will come, granted we have the time. Presumably by tomorrow or the day after we shall all be done for. You know, of course, that this part of the world was shockingly overpopulated. Well, now we are going to let in a little air.”
“Are you shooting everyone, without distinction?”
“Certainly. In many cases it may no doubt be a pity. I’m sorry, for example, about this charming
