Soon an official appeared.
“What happened here?” he said.
“Driver’s just been murdered,” said Archie. “Spanner under the railway bridge. Marino.”
“Well, are you going to scratch? Who’s spare driver?”
“I don’t know. Do you, Adam? I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if they hadn’t murdered the spare driver, too.”
“I’m spare driver,” said Miss Runcible. “It’s on my arm.”
“She’s spare driver. Look, it’s on her arm.”
“Well, do you want to scratch?”
“Don’t you scratch, Agatha.”
“No, I don’t want to scratch.”
“All right. What’s your name?”
“Agatha. I’m the spare driver. It’s on my arm.”
“I can see it is—all right, start off as soon as you like.”
“Agatha,” repeated Miss Runcible firmly as she climbed into the car. “It’s on my arm.”
“I say, Agatha,” said Adam. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“It’s on my arm,” said Miss Runcible severely.
“I mean, are you quite certain it’s absolutely safe?”
“Not absolutely safe, Adam. Not if they throw spanners. But I’ll go quite slowly at first until I’m used to it. Just you see. Coming too?”
“I’ll stay and wave the flag,” said Adam.
“That’s right. Goodbye … goodness, how too stiff-scaring. …”
The car shot out into the middle of the road, missed a collision by a foot, swung round and disappeared with a roar up the road.
“I say, Archie, is it all right being tight in a car, if it’s on a race course? They won’t run her in or anything?”
“No, no, that’s all right. All tight on the race course.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“All of them?”
“Absolutely everyone—tight as houses.”
“That’s all right then. Let’s go and have a drink.”
So they went up the hill again, through the Boy Scouts, to the refreshment tent.
It was not long before Miss Runcible was in the news.
“Hullo, everybody,” said the loud speaker. “No 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, came into collision at Headlong Corner with No. 28, the Italian Omega car, driven by Captain Marino. No 13 righted itself and continued on the course. No. 28 overturned and has retired from the race.”
“Well done, Agatha,” said Archie.
A few minutes later:
“Hullo, everybody. No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, has just completed the course in nine minutes forty-one seconds. This constitutes a record for the course.”
Patriotic cheers broke out on all sides, and Miss Runcible’s health was widely drunk in the refreshment tent.
A few minutes later:
“Hullo, everybody; I have to contradict the announcement recently made that No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, had established a record for the course. The stewards have now reported that No. 13 left the road just after the level crossing and cut across country for five miles, rejoining the track at the Red Lion corner. The lap has therefore been disallowed by the judges.”
A few minutes later:
“Hullo, everybody; No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse car, driven by Miss Agatha, has retired from the race. It disappeared from the course some time ago, turning left instead of right at Church Corner, and was last seen proceeding south on the byroad, apparently out of control.”
“My dear, that’s lucky for me,” said Miles. “A really good story my second day on the paper. This ought to do me good with the Excess—very rich-making,” and he hurried off to the post office tent—which was one of the amenities of the course—to despatch a long account of Miss Runcible’s disaster.
Adam accompanied him and sent a wire to Nina: “Drunk Major in refreshment tent not bogus thirty-five thousand married tomorrow everything perfect Agatha lost love Adam.”
“That seems quite clear,” he said.
They went to the hospital tent after this—another amenity of the course—to see how Miles’ friend was getting on. He seemed in some pain and showed anxiety about his car.
“I think it’s very heartless of him,” said Adam. “He ought to be worried about Agatha. It only shows …”
“Motor men are heartless,” said Miles, with a sigh.
Presently Captain Marino was borne in on a stretcher. He turned on his side with a deep groan and spat at Miles’ friend as he went past him. He also spat at the doctor who came to bandage him and bit one of the V.A.D.’s.
They said Captain Marino was no gentleman in the hospital tent.
There was no chance of leaving the course before the end of the race, Archie was told, and the race would not be over for at least two hours. Round and round went the stream of cars. At intervals the Boy Scouts posted a large red R against one or other of the numbers, as engine trouble or collision or Headlong Corner took its toll. A long queue stretched along the top of the hill from the door of the luncheon tent. Then it began to rain.
There was nothing for it but to go back to the bar.
At dusk the last car completed its course. The silver gilt trophy was presented to the winner. The loud speaker broadcast “God Save the King,” and a cheerful “Goodbye, everybody.” The tail of the queue outside the dining tent were respectfully informed that no more luncheons could be served. The barmaids in the refreshment tent said, “All glasses, ladies and gentlemen, please.” The motor ambulances began a final round of the track to pick up survivors. Then Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert went to look
