“Like der devil,” was the reply.

The going was good, and the road was unfrequented, so I let the car out.  We tore down an avenue of firs, great rugged banks of rhododendrons sprawling on either side, scudded into a beechwood—­pillars all silver-grey, set in a ruffled mass of whispering green, swam through a sea of bracken, rippling and feathery.  And all the time I was racking my brain....

To the best of my recollection, we had another three miles to cover before we should emerge from Ramilly on to the King’s highway.  But at the very point at which we should leave the enclosure there were crossroads and, I was sure, a finger-post announcing the way to Brooch in a plain manner which there was no mistaking.

In the face of this direction, which our passenger would be certain to see, it would be impossible to take another road, and, though we should undoubtedly reach The Fountain after the appointed hour, it was quite possible that the proceedings might not be punctually conducted, and that the essential business of the sale would not have been completed before our arrival.

Of course, there was nothing to prevent us from throwing off the mask, stopping the car, and politely intimating our inability to carry Mr. Dunkelsbaum any further.  But his reception of such an open declaration of war was certain to be unsuitable for Adele’s eyes and ears, and the subsequent action which a man of his calibre would undoubtedly take might prove troublesome, if profitless.

Again, our eventual arrival at Brooch, however belated, would be better avoided.  Berry and I were well known in the town, as was also our close friendship with Sir Anthony.  Our identification, therefore, would be only a matter of time, and since, in the absence of a burst or a puncture, our progress to Brooch could only be delayed by pretended engine trouble, the suspicions which this would be sure to arouse in our passenger’s mind would very soon be confirmed.

Sooner or later the fellow would gather that he had been befooled, but, provided that we preserved our incognitos, that did not matter.  If we could possibly leave him uncertain whether we were as cunning as serpents or as simple as doves, so much the better.

In no sort of order all these reflections elbowed and jostled one another before my mind’s eye, which was itself searching feverishly for a solution.  Then we floated round a long curve, and I saw the splash.

We were at the top of a short steep hill in the midst of a dense wood of tender years.  At the foot of the hill our road was overrun by a fair-sized stream, so that while there was a little foot-bridge, vehicles that were wishing to pass this way must do so by way of the ford.  Beyond the water the ground rose sharply again, making the whole place a bottom or hollow, such as was commonly encountered in this part of England.

I slowed up, and we slid down the hill at a reduced speed.