"I would give a jolly lot to know who this pretended abbe really is!"
He tore through the village of Barentin at racing speed.
A covered cart full of peasants stopped the way. Fandor drew up. He addressed the driver:
"Monsieur, I have rather lost my bearings: will you kindly tell me in which direction the nearest railway station lies?"
The driver, who was the mail carrier for Maronne, answered civilly:
"You must go to Motteville, Corporal. At the first cross-roads you come to, turn to the right--keep straight on--that will bring you to the station."
Corporal Fandor-Vinson thanked the man, and started off in the direction indicated.
"All I have to do now," thought he, "is to discover some nice, lonely spot for."...
Shortly after this he sighted a grove with a thick undergrowth. It bordered the road. Fandor rushed his machine into a field, and brought it to a stand-still in the centre of a clump of trees. He alighted.
"That motor is a good goer," said he, "but it is too dangerous a companion--too conspicuous a mark."
As he thought of the stranded bundle of mystery at _The Flowery Crossways_ he laughed. Then he started for the station at a steady pace.
The chauffeur woke. He saw it was nine o"clock.
"Good lord!... I shall catch it hot! We were to start at eight!"
He dressed hastily; ran down to the yard; stared about him: his car had vanished. Was he still dreaming?... He ran round to the front of the hotel--no car! Was the car stolen?... Had they set off without him?... The hotel-keeper was marketing in Rouen.... The stablemen could throw no light on this mystery.
"Probably one of your masters has gone for a turn," suggested a man.
The chauffeur"s anger grew.
"If they"ve dared to!" he shouted. "It is not their car!... I"m not in their service!... That cure came to my garage yesterday and hired my car for an outing.... What business has this cure or his soldier to move my car?... I"ll teach them who and what I am!"...
The farm boys, stable lads and men were shouting with laughter at the chauffeur"s fury. Said one:
"You know their room, don"t you?... Why not see if they are in it?...
Make sure you have cause for all this dust up!"
The chauffeur rushed upstairs four at a time! He banged on the door of the room taken by his temporary employer and the corporal--banged and thumped!... No response!... He tried the door--unlocked!... He opened it, looked in--empty!
Cursing and raging, the chauffeur clattered downstairs and collided with the hotel-keeper.
"Where is my cure?" shouted the chauffeur.
"Your cure?" echoed the good fellow, staring.
"Yes, my cure. Or his corporal!... Where are they?... Where, I say?"
"Where are they?" gaped the hotel-keeper.
The entire hotel staff was grouped in the background, laughing.
"It"s my car! I can"t find it!... Do you know where it is?"
"Your car!" exclaimed the hotel-keeper. "But the corporal went off two hours ago and more! He was going for a "trial spin," was what he told me!"
"Was the cure with him?"
"No. The cure left just after him, saying he was going to send off a telegram. Was it not true?"
The chauffeur sank on a chair.
"Here"s a low-down trick!... Those dirty thieves have cut off with my car! Let me catch them! I"ll give them beans and a bit!"
The hotel was in an uproar; the wildest suggestions rained on the distracted chauffeur. He pulled himself together; rose; called to the hotel-keeper, who was mechanically searching the yard for the vanished car:
"Where is the police station? I must warn the police. That priest and corporal cannot have got so very far in two hours! They did not leave together: they had to meet somewhere: they may not know how to manage the car ... that means delay--a breakdown, perhaps!"
Mine host of _The Flowery Crossways_ was all the more ready to help the chauffeur in that he had been cheated! Such fugitives would never pay him the eighteen francs they owed him for bed and board unless they were caught and made to disgorge.
"I will come with you to the police station," he announced. "I have my complaint to make also!"
At the police station they saw the police sergeant himself. The chauffeur had barely begun his tale of woe when the sergeant interrupted with the smile of one imparting good news:
"You state that you have lost a motor-car. Does it happen to be red, and will seat four persons?"
"Yes. That"s it! Have you seen it?"
"Does it happen to have for number 1430 G-7?"
"Exact!... Has it pa.s.sed this way?"
"Wait!... Were there not goatskin wraps inside?"
"Yes!... Yes!"
The sergeant laughed silently.
"Very well, then! I should say you were in luck! Now I am going to tell you where your car is!"
The chauffeur beamed. "You know where my car is?"
"I do--a bare fifteen minutes ago it was found in the--open fields, on Father Flory"s land, some seventeen hundred yards from the Motteville station.... Father Flory saw it when driving his cattle to pasture: he asked himself if the car had not fallen from the skies during the night!"
The hotel-keeper and chauffeur stared at each other. What had possessed the fugitives to steal the car and then cast it away in the open fields, so near the scene of their theft?... The devil was in it?