SALUTE TO THE GODS

Malcolm Campbell

1934

Contents

Prologue. The Men Who Died

1. Sun On The Circuit

2. Smoke At Chatillon

3. Thundering Through Valencay

4. Wreckage

5. Third Sun

6. Shadow of Perrugi

7. Dark Horizon

8. He That Outlives This Day

9. Shall Come Safe Home

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Prologue. The Men Who Died

THE MACHINE came roaring down the sunlit straight, its wheels pitching thin dust behind, the smudged white of the driver's helmet showing around the edge of his wind-shield as he overtook the car ahead, its stumpy blue tail juddering in a whirl of hazy dust.

His own machine was a green, lean, streamlined shape, with a stone-guard of steel mesh drawn like a visor over the radiator, below which lay the super-charger— a rounded mass of finned metal with the sun flashing from it, as it might flash from the muzzle of a gun.

The driver's forearms were ridged with muscle, his gloved hands were like brown clamps on the thin wheel-rim as he held the car to its course. His lips stretched across gritted teeth, filmed with dust, and more dust was caked over his swart features, so that his face was a grey mask: only his goggles were clean, and their glinting lenses made him seem wickedly eager to pass the blue machine ahead and take the lead.

‘Gipsy’ Perrugi, they called him, and in this race over the Lasarte circuit he had been driving like the devil he was, something in his handling of the car bringing him safely through hazards that would have sent other men to smoking disaster.

He judged the point where he would overtake the Frenchman— just at the crest of a rise in the road, where trees swept to the verge of the course, their dark trunks forming a black, serrated palisade that looked like crepe stretched out in the sun.

He came within range of grit and stones torn from the loosened surface of the road and kicked back in a solid hail by the blue cars singing tyres. A flinty fragment struck Perrugi's cheek; it cut like the burning edge of a knife until the wind caught the half-inch gash, when the hot pain gave place to coldness, as though an icy finger-tip touched his skin.

He pulled outwards, ready to pass, and now the metallic thunder of the two machines leaped to a merged roar, ‘Gipsy’ came level as the cars pitched on towards the top of the little rise, lurching like dogs that run flank to flank, fighting as they race. They broke apart, each veering away and giving room to the other. A gap widened between their wheels and the French car came straight again, but Perrugi continued to drift outwards— to drift until his spinning tyres were stirring the heavy dust that lay at the road-edge, so that it ripped upwards, rising like some ragged banner that flew to warn the driver.

He must have seen it, yet he did not pull his car back to the course.

It gained the crest of the rise, and here the machine jumped— engine howling as it over-ran, exhaust-note rising to crescendo, and the drone of the supercharger reaching a scream. The car dropped, and now its outer wheels were beyond the dusty verge of the road. Grass flattened under the tyres, and the soft blades became a slippery trap which drew the car off the course, carrying it disastrously on to the low bank at the foot of the trees. It struck aslant, canting as the tremendous impetus of its speed lifted the machine high. There was a moment in which the tilting car showed with wheels spinning above a dark mass of torn grass and earth. The driver was visible, one arm upflung and bent above his head, as if he hoped that flesh and bone might yet guard him, then the front of the car struck a tree, and the machine flung round as though some giant hand had caught it, hurling it remorselessly on into the close-standing trunks beyond.

It smashed against them. Ragged metal severed bark and branches. Dust and smoke and debris pitched high in a spurting veil which screened the car as— repulsed by some barrier that it could not break— it fell to the bank again, skated wildly over the grass for a little way, and stopped with smoke drifting from between the edges of riven metal. Shorn branches marked the path the machine had cut across the face of the wood, and through the quivering silence there came a rustling as three trees with shattered trunks bowed their trembling foliage above the spot to which the crumpled shape of the white-clad driver had been thrown— they bowed, and came crashing down.

The exhaust-note of the French car had dwindled before men came running to the scene. Spectators at the edge of the wood received aid. An official with a blue flag fluttered a warning to machines which followed along the straightaway, and debris flung out to the road was cleared away. Messages flashed around the circuit to grandstands and pits. An ambulance appeared and, soon after wards, there came an official car from which dropped a big-framed man; he had hair as grey as newly fractured iron, and it swept back from temples that were like buttresses to his tall forehead. He ran to the crumpled shape that lay by the broken trees, the stumps of their trunks showing white against the dimness of the wood beyond.

The ambulance men had not lifted the driver, because they feared to move him Perrugi looked at the burly man with eyes that were rimmed by the dust of the race— dark eyes, they were, the eyes of a true-born gipsy. His lips moved, and his whispered words blanched the face of the man who heard them. ‘Gipsy’ Perrugi was cursing the man who bent over him, and he was cursing the car which had killed him— and, cursing still, he died.

They buried ‘Gipsy’ Perrugi. In a little while only the stumps of the three broken trees, and the ridges torn in the ground, marked where a machine had killed a man. Rains watered the broken ground, and sunshine had stirred new grass to early life in the gashes on the bank when crowds gathered to watch another race, run over Italian roads. Perrugi should have driven here; his place was taken by a man who rode a machine which was a duplicate of the one that had crashed. The car snatched the lead half-way through a race that was hard-fought and dose, and the thin dust slashed backwards by its tyres formed a low and rolling haze which seemed to mock the machines that came in pursuit.

The driver was Tim Duggan. and beneath his goggles was a face with clean-cut lines, flecked by wind-blown oil. Even though he lacked Perrugi's fire and dash, he had the nerve to travel just as fast and his throttle was wide open when he came to where the course dipped before a long and easy bend. On the down-grade he was moving at little less than a hundred and thirty miles an hour, so that the road appeared as a solid, grey-black river that rushed towards him. streaked a little and edged by blurred grass, with cypress trees standing dark against the sky beyond the curve.

He saw, as he entered the bend, the yellow stone parapet of a wide bridge over which the course ran. He glimpsed the silver of a little stream below as he braced himself. steadying the car to take the centre of the bridge.

Spectators, crowded inside the curve, saw him come. Two pursuing Italian machines appeared behind him, dull red, their wheels blurred by speed and by the low-flung spinning dust. Each car was holding to its course, the sustained roaring which they made drowning all other sound. Like that, terribly fast— but safe and steady— they came, until the green machine failed to follow the bend of the road. It went straight on.

Unaccountably. unreasonably, it began to cut across the outside of the curve, rushing directly towards the bulky stonework which marked the beginning of the bridge. Men who stood  there moved uneasily: they were officials and revolver-armed Fascisti, and with them was a photographer who clutched his camera and suddenly began to run.

There was one long-drawn moment in which the front wheels might yet have turned through the faint arc which would carry the machine safely across the bridge, but they remained straight, so that the car rushed on at an angle over the curving road, and those who watched knew that nothing could save it now. The officials and the soldiers followed the photographer, leaping wildly away; staring spectators inside the bend remained motionless, held by the spectacle of catastrophe, imminent and inevitable.

The front wheels of the green machine skimmed the edge of the road, earth skated blackly, then the car hit the end of the parapet, and there came a sound that was like the bursting explosion of a great gun. A front wheel crumpled, and all that was behind it on that side be came lost in a spurting mass of broken stone and torn metal as the car jumped off the road, leaping outside the bridge and somersaulting above the little stream. It struck the bushes on the bank at the far side. Dirt gushed upwards, and the car pitched end over end, crashing down bushes before it steadied to a clattering slide over the rough ground, and, with a final crash, stopped against a great boulder.

The wild echoes were lost in the roar of the two Italian cars as they crossed the bridge, and the drivers must have seen the plume of dark smoke which rose from where the wreck lay, hiding its green and battered mass. The surface of the stream was still dappled, where stonework and earth and fragments from the machine had fallen into it.

Helpers came, and messages were sent around the circuit. It was not long before a car brought the man who had temples that were like buttresses to his great forehead. He ran to the wreckage in time to see a stretcher being carried to the ambulance. The figure which lay upon it was covered. The green car was smashed, and the driver was dead. Smoke drifted over the bushes which the machine had shorn, and their stumps were white— like the stumps of the three pine trees which marked the spot where ‘Gipsy’ Perrugi had died.

They buried Tim Duggan. They stripped the wreckage of his car. There was nothing to show why he had gone off the road, just as there had been nothing to show why Perrugi had crashed.

Two cars had killed two men.

No one could tell why.

1. Sun On The Circuit

SHE CAME down the empty road, running a little way walking a little way, and then running again. A French woman, swinging open a clattering casement, stared first at the girl's trim tweeds and then at her face, because Evelyn’s eyes were wide, reflecting her fear as she ran on towards a white fronted estaminet in the middle of the little village.

The woman at the window, watching her, knew then that she was going to the huge barn by the little cafe where the Englishmen had their team of racing cars. Mechanics had been working for half the night on one of the machines, and just before daylight its engine had roused the whole village with a trumpet-toned bellowing. It was quiet now, but its uproar had been like a warning that this was the day of the Grand Prix d’Auvergne.

Evelyn passed the whitewashed building, the roof of which— damped under the night's heavy dew— shone in the early sunlight. She paused at the entrance of the yard beyond, where mechanics were loading a lorry with equipment for the replenishment depot; the men wore old, oily overalls, which made them seem as grim as the work which lay in the day ahead. She tucked strands of displaced hair under the brim of her close-fitting hat, her fingers making quick, nervous movements, and tried to compose herself as she went on to the barn at the back of the yard.

Its huge door stood open. She could see the shadowy interior broken by streaks of sunlight which came through cracks in the far wall, slanting across the dimness like bright yellow bars. They touched three racing machines which stood on the broken brick floor, and one great shaft of sunshine, striking through a window, fell across the radiator guards catching the rounded shapes of the superchargers.

Evelyn stopped against one great oaken doorpost when she saw Jerry Ross. He stood by an old table, which, scattered with tools and engine parts, had served as a bench, and be was polishing the lenses of a pair of goggles, watching two mechanics who worked over one of the machines; to make certain that everything was taut and secure. Twin furrows cut deeply above his nose, and his eyes seemed a little sunken, because his brows were drawn over them; his lips were set, and the line of his chin was hard and definite. He was very sunburnt, with skin stirred to ruddy colour by the rush of wind during practice on the Auvergne circuit, and, looking at him, Evelyn remembered how they had brought Perrugi back, moving only to the jolting of the stretcher. The memory frightened her, so that, for the moment, she could only stand silently there, glancing from Jerry to the machine on which the mechanics were busy.

The bonnet was uplifted. Enormous power was quiescent In the clean and polished shape of the engine; it was as compact as the breech mechanism of a howitzer, and just as resolutely purposeful. She saw the ribbed inlet manifold gleaming dully where it stopped down to the bulky supercharger; from between the elongated shining camshaft covers, ignition leads sprouted like the stems of some leafless and unnatural plant which could it seemed to her. bear only fear and sadness as its fruit.

This car, and those which stood be side it, were single-seaters with bodies so narrow, so fine-drawn and streamlined to such perfection that each had a savage beauty. They could touch a hundred and fifty miles an hour along the straight of the eight-mile Auvergne course, and all about the circuit other cars were now being made ready. In a little while, they would be out on the road, snarling and roaring as they raced, fighting down the straightaways and scrapping In the bends, each striving to outpace the next, with inevitable disaster waiting upon a fault or an error made by the men who drove them.

Evelyn looked at Jerry again. He saw her now, and his face cleared as he came eagerly towards her, smiling.

‘I was beginning to think I shouldn't see you before the start!’ he exclaimed ‘I'm glad you got here.’

‘I came last night,’ she replied. ‘It was too late to do anything then, so I walked over this morning.’  She studied him while his fingers closed over her own.  ‘You look very fit.’

'I am— and so are the cars.' He waved his goggles towards the machines, 'That's mine— Number Twelve.'

It was his very enthusiasm which evoked her response, and her answer came almost involuntarily impelled by the fear which had brought her here.

'I wish it wasn't!' she said.

Her voice was low, but Jerry heard, and he knew what she meant. It was three weeks since Evelyn had last seen him, and for two of those weeks— ever since she had known that he had agreed to drive one of these machines— she had been wanting to talk to him. It was. she knew, too late to do anything now; nothing she could say would stop him driving in this Grand Prix d' Auvergne, but there were things that she had to ask him, and she wanted to talk in some place other than this barn, with its tools and its oil-reek and its busy men. She caught at his arm, turning him towards the sunlight, then spoke in a voice which she tried to make casual, but which came as no more than a quivering whisper.

'Jerry, why have you joined Ellison's team?' she asked.

His smile died. He could see that she was taking it badly; there were little patches of white at the corners of her lips, and her eyes were dark.

'His cars have killed two drivers al ready this season,' she said shakily. 'Perrugi and poor Tim. Jerry, I’m— scared!'

He pressed the hand on his arm, and smiled again. It was, he hoped, an easy smile that would hide his consciousness of nerves that fluttered in the pit of his stomach, as if fear had got into him and was groping for a hold.

'You've been listening to wild rumours,' he told her. 'Let's go and find some coffee, then I’ll talk to you.'

It was when he turned to pitch his goggles into the cockpit of his machine that Evelyn saw Ellison looking directly at her. as if he had heard what she said, although he was at the far side of the building. The man who had built these cars had heavy features which, in the shadow, seemed brutal. His hair was iron-gray, brushed back from temples that swelled like buttresses to his tall forehead. Albert Clement Ellison was his name, and he had given his initials to his cars: A.C.E.— and it was as 'Ace' machines that they were listed. He had been a racing driver in the old days, and it was three years since he had made a return to high speed work, first in small events, then in minor Continental races, and he now had a full team running in Grands Prix.

Twice his cars had raced this season; each time, one had crashed and each time a man had died. He knew that rumour said Ace cars were unsafe; that some inherent defect made it impossible to control them at the peak of their speed. He believed that rumour lied, and that what he had built was sound and true— and he had to race on to prove it. He knew that this girl had come because she loved the young driver who had joined his team: she might shake his nerve with doubts unless he interfered, so he came quickly across the barn, and smiled disarmingly as he approached.

'Good morning, Miss Fraser!' His voice was deliberate, and slow. 'Your father was over here yesterday, and he told me that you were a little worried about Jerry handling a car for me.' He paused. 'I’m sorry about that.'

Out of the shadow, his face lost some of its harshness, but his eves were dark and watchful; there was something ruthless about him as ne stood facing her. and much that was defiant. She had seen him, and spoken to him, on circuits other than this and had always been a little afraid of him, but now the things that were pent in her mind made her forget everything except her anxiety.

'People are saying that your cars are not safe!' she said.

'I know that.' he replied evenly. 'Perrugi was a clever driver, so was Tim. There was no reason for either of them to go off the road, unless something developed in their cars.' Evelyn went on quickly. 'Steering trouble, it might have been.'

She felt Jerry catch at her arm. Only then did she fully appreciate that she was telling Ellison— telling him with every quivering word— that he was responsible for what had happened to the men who had trusted their lives to the machines he had built.

She saw his lips tighten, and his voice came harshly. 'Steering trouble has been mentioned. That— and many other things, young lady. But all the rumours, and all the stories you may have heard are wrong.'

His tone was abrupt then, as if he realised that his manner was discourteous, he relaxed a little. As his expression changed. Evelyn saw that his eyes were very tired. 'I examined both those wrecks. Miss Fraser.' he went on. quietly and slowly now, ‘and I have been over every part of the machines that are racing to day. I have found no defects— either in metal or design.' He met her glance directly. 'Surely you don't think that I would allow men to drive my machines if I had the slightest suspicion that there was anything wrong?'

'Evelyn, Mr. Ellison has tested them himself.' Jerry cut in. 'He's driven each one around the course and he's driven it hard. He wouldn't let me take my car over until he was satisfied with it, and it was the same with the others.'

'If I were younger I should be leading the team, but I lack the stamina now, and my judgement is not good enough for racing.' Ellison's voice became still lower. 'Why 'Gipsy' and Tim went off the road is a mystery, and the accidents were just— accidents, that's all.' He paused, then spoke deliberately. 'I believe you waited over from Auvergne. One of the men will be driving into the town in a few minutes. He'll give you a lift.'

He nodded, and walked on towards the lorry in the yard.  Evelyn realised that she had been given a very clear indication that her presence was some thing of an intrusion. She knew too much about motor racing camps to resent this, however; no one liked even comparative strangers about the cars before a race.

'Let's go and find that coffee,' she heard Jerry say. and he drew her away.

Ellison watched them go, his glance thoughtful. He liked Evelyn, and her father's firm made racing tyres, supplying those used on the Ace cars. Evelyn acted as his secretary, travelling with him, attending to correspondence and detail work, and she had first met Jerry three years earlier, when he had been driving in sprint races at Brooklands, running in bigger events when he could get a car. From that he had gone to road-racing, and a victory in the Grand Prix de Provence, at Montlhery, had marked him as a driver of growing ability.

Ellison had offered him a place in the Ace team because he knew that Jerry was steady and could ride to pit signals, while he had all the nerve that was needed to keep the throttle pedal flat if he were given the order. Ellison liked the way in which Jerry had practised for the Grand Prix d' Auvergne, lapping faster each time he went out, spending every available moment on the course, even walking around it the better to study each bend and turn. He was precisely the right type of man to have as third driver in the team, one who could back up the controlled dash of Bill Palmer, who was pacemaker, and the cool daring of Dan Martin, who handled the second car of the three green machines.

Jerry would in time, Ellison felt, be capable of matching all that either Palmer or Martin could do, and the Grand Prix d'Auvergne would certainly prove his ability, because it would be a desperate affair. The race had grown from obscurity to one of the most important events in the calendar, because it was run over one of the fastest of road circuits, and because the organisers offered relatively high inducement to entrants. The winner would receive a hundred thousand francs— some twelve hundred pounds— while the driver who ran into second place took half that sum, and this was bringing to the line the finest cars and the cleverest of European drivers.

The Aces were matched against Alfa Romeo, Bugatti, Rochelle, and Maserati cars, and the new machines from Germany— all capable of speeds which, a few years before, had seemed impossible on the road. They were being handled exclusively by men against whom Jerry ranked as little better than a novice— except that he possessed the peculiar judgment, the quite rare zest and innate skill which is the difference between a merely good driver and one who can handle a monoposto machine in a Grand Prix. It was not for prize money that Ellison raced his team: that was for his drivers, if they could win it. He was racing to prove his cars, and to overlay the double tragedy with which the season had opened, because he could see no hope of solving the mystery of it. There had been no reason why 'Gipsy' should have crashed, no reason why— as observers said— he should have left the road when he reached the crest of that rise. And Tim Duggan's skill could not have deserted him in the easy curve on the Italian course; Ellison had himself driven one of the team machines through the bend after the smash, with scouts keeping the road clear so that he could travel as fast as Tim had driven. He had held the car easily enough.

No amount of thought or investigation could produce an adequate reason for the loss of those cars and men, and nothing but a victory in some race like this over the Auvergne circuit could wipe out the thought that persisted in the minds of his mechanics and his drivers— the idea that some how, somewhere, a fault lay in the cars. Ellison knew they were as perfect as hands and brain and experience could make them. He told himself that the crashes could not be repeated, yet he dreaded that the same thing might happen again. He could not forget those moments when he had bent over 'Gipsy' Perrugi at the side of the road, when the driver had whispered the last words he would ever utter, cursing the cars and the man who had built them.

These things were in Ellison's mind as he watched Evelyn and Jerry slip through the side door of the estaminet, entering a room which formed a rough headquarters for the team. On a rickety table was a case of stop watches, with a number of carefully ruled time charts, a first-aid chest, and a brown portmanteau. On a settee, with springs showing through splits in its horsehair fabric, lay clean racing overalls, wrist bandages, and abdominal belts, shoes and sweaters and scarves. Scattered about the room were news papers, broken cartons, a few tools, and in a corner stood a stack of bottles which had contained 'tonic' water— all that Ellison allowed his drivers to drink before a race, although he gave them champagne during pit stops while the event was being run.

On the table, too, was a tray bearing cups and saucers, jugs of hot coffee and milk, with soft, warm rolls in dishes.

'Cafe complet,' Jerry commented. 'Will you do the honours?'

He watched as she began to straighten out the contents of the tray. There was now more colour in the soft curve of her cheeks, heightened by the dark line of her eyelashes, above which the lids were smooth and soft. Her lips were clean cut. as if they had been shaped very deliberately by someone striving to achieve perfection. Her chin was firm and, in some subtle way, it heightened the womanliness of her whole expression.

'Jerry. I was more than rude to Mr Ellison.' she said suddenly. 'I didn't quite appreciate the meaning of what I was saying. You know, he was rather decent— considering what I said.'

'I've got to know him quite well. He's fine,'' Jerry answered.

'I’ll apologise when I get an opportunity,' Evelyn went on.  'And I don't blame him for making it clear that I’m rather in the way here. But he won't keep me out of your pit during the race. Jerry. I can make myself useful with the food— I suppose he's arranged some sort of refreshment?'

'They're making up a hamper here.' Jerry answered, just as a foot thudded against the door at the far side of the room. It burst open and a man stepped quickly in.

He was tall with features that were naturally pale, with jet-black hair and clear, light brown eyes. The skin was drawn tight on his features, so that it shone on his cheekbones and stressed the angle of his jaw. He wore only an old pair of flannel trousers with a singlet, and he stopped short. Then he saw Evelyn.

'All right. Bill— I think you know Miss Fraser!' Jerry called. 'Evelyn, this is Bill Palmer— he's leading the team on Number Ten.'

'We've met before,' Evelyn said. 'The last time was on the Reims circuit, I think.'

'That's it— Grand Prix de la Marne,' Palmer said. 'I didn't expect to find a lady here— you'll have to excuse me!' His tone was curt, yet his manner was not unpleasant; he did not smile as he came to the table. 'Is that coffee you've got there? I take five lumps of sugar— and I'll peel the paper off it myself.' he added.

Evelyn, filling a cup for him, remembered what she had heard of this man who led the Ace team. She had seen him race, sitting bolt upright be hind the wheel, Continental fashion, and he had a reputation for being quite unafraid. Years before he had been driving old and out-of-date machines which he had himself rebuilt and tuned for speed, making a name because, on those old cars, he had often beaten the best that men on newer machines could achieve.

'Someone told me that you two were engaged — congratulations,' he said, as he began to strip the paper wrapped about little lumps of sugar piled on a plate. 'You're a little early,' Evelyn answered. 'I haven't been asked yet —officially.'

'I hope to do that at the end of the season,' Jerry said.

'Lucky feller!' Bill looked at him suddenly, then glanced at Evelyn, and she saw that his light eyes were cold and serious. 'He's a better driver than I am,' he said abruptly. 'Steadier, see? But when he's warmed up he can be faster than me— on corners, I mean. He's got good judgment, and he doesn't set so tired.'

Evelyn looked at him wonderingly as he spilled sugar into the cup. Palmer's manner was easy, and he spoke as if he were continuing a conversation, or answering some question that she had put to him. 'I can go hard for a couple of hundred miles,' he went on. 'and set the pace, and crack some of the others up. After that I start to fade out, unless I've got a long lead.'

He drank from the cup, seeming not to notice the heat of the coffee. ‘I'll make some of them shift over the first thirty laps today— I’ll do my job. all right, then Ellison will flag Dan Martin to so ahead of me. If he isn't still running, he'll signal you up, Jerry,’ and he paused to drink again. It was the first time that Evelyn had ever been near enough to Bill Palmer to realise that he was an unusual man. She had heard that he was close lipped and that he did not talk very much, but something seemed to have loosened his tongue.

'You'll be too far in front for any of us to catch you, long before the race is over.' Jerry said.

'You think so?' The man stared at him. 'I've been running in big events for long enough to know what it takes to make a good driver. You're a natural— I've made myself.' He drained the hot coffee, and went on with the cup poised in his hand. 'I'll tell you this: before the season's out, you'll be leading the team.'

'And where shall you be?' Jerry asked, and he was frowning, because be had never seen Bill Palmer in this mood.

'I'm not worrying about where I’ll be at the end of the season.' came the abrupt answer. 'I'm worrying about where I’ll be— tonight!'

He lowered the cup. then looked through the half-opened door towards the cars in the barn. 'I was Number Three in the team when Perrugi piled up,' he said slowly, ‘I was Number Two when Tim went— and now I’m Number One! I’m leading the team. I've got orders to make the pace— just as they had!’

He stopped a moment, then added, his thin voice rising tensely. 'That’s enough to set a man thinking, isn't it?'

He turned from the door, suddenly to meet Evelyn's wide, alarmed glance. His manner changed at once, and he bent a little towards her.

'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'I slept badly lost night, and 'Gipsy’ was by way of being a friend of mine. He broke off.  'I’m always a bit rattled before a race. I'd better go and look my machine over.' He stepped through the doorway.

'Thanks for the coffee:' He called the last words over his shoulder, then strode away across the yard and vanished into the barn. All that was left to show he had been there was the cup, set aslant on the tray with thin steam rising from it, like smoke— that, and the expression on Evelyn's features, startled and anxious again.

'He's on edge,' Jerry said. 'You're all on edge!' She turned to him. 'Jerry. I've never seen a camp like this before. All the mechanics are quiet, everyone's worried, and Bill Palmer is scared of something You're all afraid that what's happened before is going to happen again!'

'It can't!' Jerry said shortly.

'It can!' Evelyn answered. 'I don’t care what Ellison says about the machines He may honestly believe that they're safe and--'

'They are safe! They've been tested in every possible way. There's nothing wrong with them!'

'Then what killed 'Gipsy’ and Tim?' she asked quickly. 'They drove too well to make mistakes, and if their machines were all right— what was it that made them crash?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'I don't know anything, except that you're being a little unreasonable. And you mustn’t take any notice of Bill. He's got a touch of nettle rash, or something, and it's made him irritable. He said yesterday that it would be uncomfortable when the cockpit got hot, and he was complaining to Dr. Relf.'

He came closer, catching her arms and looking down at her. 'It's natural for everyone to be a bit uneasy,' he said. 'We've heard so many rumours about bow fast other machines are and that, with what's already occurred, has got everyone rattled. But it will be an easy race for me, because all I have to do is to hold back and let Bill and Dan do the scrapping. There's really nothing to worry about.'

He was smiling; again, reassuringly, strong and capable.

'I expect you're right. Jerry,' and she tried to laugh. ‘I’ve been thinking about it too much. Only I'd hate anything to happen to you.'

'I’ll see that nothing does,' he said. 'The race may be a bit faster than any I’ve driven in before, but that's all.'

The mechanic who was driving into Auvergne appeared, and he had the car waiting. 'Then I must go, but I’ll see you again at the pits, Jerry.' Evelyn made her tone light. 'And you'll— be careful, won't you? That's a promise?'

'The first business of a driver is to keep his machine on the road,' Jerry answered. 'And I’ll do it!' He accompanied her to the car which stood near the yard gates. She waved to him as it went away, vanishing along the road down which she had come a little time before.

The village was rousing now, and a group had gathered by the yard gates. There were two small boys, an old man, and a gendarme who had donned a fresh uniform for the day's work; he stood smoking a limp caporal cigarette, with the tip of the packet protruding from beneath the polished flap of his revolver holster.

When Jerry turned away, mechanics were running the racing machines out into the sunshine of the yard, ready to clean the cars off so that they would be smart and polished on the starting line. He went back to finish his coffee, thinking of Evelyn and half regretting that she had troubled to come because her presence stirred his own uneasy fears. The things of which she had spoken were in the thoughts of every man who had worked on the Ace machines: that was inevitable, because the crashes were so unaccountable.

It was quite useless to think about them now. Practice and the preparation of the cars had gone smoothly, everything was as ready as men could make it, and Jerry knew that it now remained only to get through the next hour or so as comfortably as possible. Once the cars moved out of the yard there would be no time for anything except the race itself.

He almost wished that there was something still to be done on his machine, that he might be occupied, and this was in his mind when two men walked in from the village. One was Dr. Paul Relf, an old acquaintance of Ellison's who, retired from practice, had attached himself to the team. His hair was quite grey, while his skin was taking on that rosy softness which comes in healthy age. His clothes were always a little out-of-date, but very precise and neat, and he contrasted strongly with the man at his side. This was Dan Martin, second driver in the Ace team. He was solidly built, and Jerry heard him exchange a joke with the grinning boys by the gate, speaking past the long stemmed pipe which jutted from a corner of his mouth.

His eyes were almost always half closed and that lent him a questioning look. His nose was short— like a fighter's— and the tilt to his chin was typical of the aggressive way in which he drove a race. He could be relied upon to hold his own against any opposition, providing his car was right; he had enormous stamina, and he liked a long, fast race in which, by virtue of his own physique, he had a chance to wear other drivers down. His private ambition was to break the American trans-continental record although he had little hope of ever making the attempt.

He and Relf were very friendly, and they came on to the estaminet when Jerry called through the doorway that coffee was ready. Dr. Relf greeted him. eyes twinkling beneath his badger grey brows.

'Did we pass Miss Fraser in the car just now?' he asked, and patted Jerry's arm confidingly. 'We'd been for a little stroll, I'm sorry I missed her.'  He helped himself to coffee. 'Charming girl— charming.'

Dan Martin, lounging towards the table, glanced at Jerry from the corners of his eyes, but he made no comment. He filled a cup with black coffee, then sipped it as he sprawled in a chair. 'There's going to be a big crowd.' he said. 'We saw a lot of traffic on the roads.'

'Thousands of people slept in the open last night.’ Dr. Relf added, then went on: 'I don't know that coffee is altogether the best thing for you fellows just now. A square meal would be better for you. Jerry— except that you are a little nervous, and that would affect the digestion of a man of your type.' He laughed softly 'Dan, here, could eat cold pork chops and not be affected.'

'I wouldn't touch them,' the big driver grunted. 'Palmer had some at Auvergne the night before last— they brought out the rash he's got.''

'I must attend to that for him,' Dr. Relf murmured. 'And when you're ready. I suppose we'd better go through the usual routine. It is only a matter of form, fortunately.'

Before each race, Relf made a physical examination of each driver. In some events the regulations required this, and the doctor's attentions sufficed to meet the rule. They did not talk very much after that, and Jerry remained leaning against the side of the doorway, watching the men who were busy about the cars.

He saw his own mechanic, Joe Naylor using polishing cloths with real energy and enthusiasm on Number Twelve. He was a round-faced smiling fellow with wide brown eyes that shone like buttons against his smooth, sunburnt skin, when he was tired or excited. He was eager that his car should be just a little better in appearance than the rest, although if there were any difference it could be detected only by himself.

The narrow body was poised between its wheels; the neat louvers in the bonnet, and at the tip of the tail, lent it the appearance of being armoured, and this was heightened by the stream lined bulge that hid the driving mirror Joe had painted over the buckle on the broad bonnet-strap, and he had dulled the metal frame of the little wind shield, so that it could not reflect sun glare and tire his driver's eyes.

Presently, Jerry heard Dr. Relf calling him. When he turned, he saw that the portmanteau on the table was open, and it was with the appearance of the doctor's stethoscope that the real work of the day began. His examination of the two drivers was swift and thorough. He laughed a little when it was done.

'A complete waste of time, of course,' he said. 'It is a little early, but I think I might as well do your wrist bandages now.'

Very carefully, taking his time over the process, he swathed their wrists in soft linen tape, so that the cloth would hold bone and sinew together against the constant tension of driving. He did the same for their ankles, then they went out to their cars, and sent Bill Palmer in for Relf's attentions. The lorry which the men had been loading had long since gone to the Ace replenishment depot, carrying fuel and oil signals and tools. filler-funnels and petrol churns— all the equipment and supplies necessary to stock the 'pit' at which, during the race, the cars would stop for repairs and replenishment. Ellison began to make a final check of the cars, while Jerry slid into the cockpit of Number Twelve to make sure that the rubber padding which Joe had placed in position was secure. It was packed over the gearbox housing to guard his left ankle, there was more to protect his knees against the steering column, and still more over the angle-irons where they supported the side of the cockpit.

He climbed out, looking about the machine and talking to the mechanic. He was conscious now that everything was gradually quickening to action which, growing faster, would catch him up and sweep him into the race. He could no longer quite subdue the fluttering at the pit of his stomach. He had always been aware of this before any event even before a brief Brooklands sprint; it disappeared once the starter's flag fell, although it had never been quite so acute as now. Suddenly, he heard Ellison calling to him, and his heart jumped a little.

Ellison was beckoning him from the little room where Dr. Relf had completed his examination of Bill Palmer, and Jerry knew that he was wanted to take part in a brief conference about the race. When it ended, the cars would be moved down to the course. He hurried across the yard; Palmer and Martin were there, and when Jerry entered Ellison closed the door, setting his back to it as be faced the three. 'We'll warm the engines up here, then tow the machines to the course,' he said, and his voice was slow and quiet. 'There's a lot of traffic about already, but we shan't have much difficulty in getting through. If we're at the pits an hour before the start, we'll have plenty of time for everything.'

'Too much time.' Palmer broke in. 'I hate this hanging about.'

'It can't be helped, and don’t let it upset you.' Ellison glanced at them in turn, and it was a few moments before he went on. 'I believe that the cars are fast enough to win, but you're racing as a team; if there is any prize money, you split it between you— as we've already agreed. If anyone has an objection to that arrangement, he'd better say so now.'

'That's still all right with me.' Palmer said. Jerry and Dan nodded.

'Good!' Ellison glanced at them again.

'Now, I don't like to refer to this, but I have to— because I don't want you to start with any wrong ideas about what happened to Perrugi and Tim.' His voice quickened a little like that of a man who is trying to convince himself. 'They both made errors of judgment, and that's all there can be to it. I'd given 'Gipsy’ the OK  signal, and I didn't intend him to take the lead when he did. He was going flat out against my orders, and I think he pulled over too far.'

'That's it,' Palmer grunted. 'He forgot his car would jump on the bump, and he must have skidded.'

'He was a fine driver,' Ellison said, 'but he liked to ride his own race, and that's why I insist that all three of you must make up your minds to accept my signals from the pit, and drive accordingly. You're in the race and can't tell what's going on; I'm watching it— with a pit crew and timekeepers to help me, and I know when you can best use your speed.' His face was set while he leaned across the table, his deliberate voice continuing. 'I want you fellows to believe that the cars are sound and safe. You've run the machines in practice, you know how I've worked on them, and you know that not a thing has been left to chance. Before we leave here, I want an assurance that you're satisfied.'

'Jerry and I have talked about all this,' Dan Martin said, 'and he thinks the same as I do. Nothing will happen in this race!'

‘I’m with you there,' Bill Palmer held out his hand to the designer. 'A lot of wild talk won't scare me,' he added. 'And I'll drive to orders!'

Ellison touched his hand, and for the first time in many days, a real smile curved his lips.

‘That takes something off my mind ' he admitted. 'It's helpful to know that you've got faith in me, and in the cars.' He drew a long breath. 'Well, now I'll just go over the tactics that we've already arranged— and they're simple enough. You're to set the pace with the race leaders. Bill, and you'll probably find yourself against Radezza and Gustave. Personally, I don't think they'll hold you, and it will probably be the Alfa-Romeos that will worry you.

'Dan, you’re just running as my second string, and I'll signal you to go just fast enough to have a chance of taking Bill's place If he cracks. Jerry, you—'

He checked and smiled again. 'You're Just a runner up, I’m afraid, but you'll be needed badly if anything happens to the others. However the race goes. I want you to watch, my signals near the finish, because I shall try and put all three of you in front of any Rochelles which may be near. Is all that clear?' He looked at them again, and they nodded in turn,

'Spare your engines as much as you can— and for heaven's sake don't take chances!' With that, he jerked open the door and led the way to where the cars waited. Five minutes later, they were started up, the engines coming to life in turn, roaring deafeningly and making speech impossible as the sound echoed back upon itself from the walls around. Ellison stood by Palmer's car, watching the revolution counter and listening to the engine note. Jerry sat in the cockpit of his machine and leaning over the smooth tail was Joe Naylor, grinning as he heard the engine over which he had worked, looking ever and again at the side of Jerry's face.

Joe had grown to like this young driver, and often, during practice, he had walked across the circuit just to watch the neat way in which Jerry went through a corner. For minutes the machines thundered, then the bellow of exhausts died as the engines were switched off. Mechanics rugged up the radiators, and the whole crew of the racing camp made final preparation for departure.

Jerry collected his racing kit and when he returned to his machine he found it already hitched to the car which had come back after taking Evelyn to Auvergne. Another was being used to tow Dan Martin's racer and Palmer's was roped to the back of the lorry that had carried material to the course.

Mechanics climbed aboard the towing machines, and when yard and barn were clear Ellison and Dr. Relf made sure that nothing had been forgotten; after which the yard gates were opened, the gendarme held up traffic which was streaming through the village. The towed cars rolled forward, the crowd which had gathered outside calling to the drivers as the green machines appeared one by one. Everything gave way to the racing team during the mile-long run to the circuit; gendarmes who policed the route would have sent traffic into the ditch rather than hold up the English machines. The occupants of vehicles on the road leaned out, eager to catch a close glimpse of the streamlined cars, and women shrilled 'Bonne chance!' as they rolled by. Exclamatory comment came confusingly above the hum of engines, above the rush and clatter of movement, until the barriers at the roadside were lowered to allow the team to run on to a rough track which crossed a field and led direct to the tribunes.

Jerry saw the flag-decked grand stands, and the back of a great score-board erected above the pits with tall ladders silhouetted near it. He saw the brilliant colours of advertisement streamers, and, high overhead, a balloon shining like a metal ball in the sky, with lettering around it, and banners flying from its supporting cable. On either hand cars were parked, glistening blackly in the sun, and everywhere was an impression of figures hurrying towards the course, converging from every direction and moving in haste.

The track ended in more barriers, and when these were broken down, the towed machines swung on to the course itself just, short of the actual starting point for the race. At one side was the line of replenishment depots, shadowy beneath roofs of corrugated iron. Racing machines stood aslant before them, with mechanics busy and marshals scurrying officiously between the care.

Opposite the pits was the grandstand— a long, shallow structure; its tiers of seats were already jammed, and an enclosure before it was thick with staring people. In front of this enclosure was a low fence, hidden by straw bales piled nearly breast high, designed to guard spectators should a car run out of control as it came down the long, fast straightaway.

Twenty-three machines were running in the Grand Prix d'Auvergne, and the majority had already arrived. Applause came from the grandstand when the Aces began to roll past the line of pits, near the end of which was the depot for a team of black painted Maseratis, entered by an Italian stable. They were grim-looking cars, each with its dumb-iron fairing a different colour, so that the pit crew could identify one machine from the other as they came down the straight before their racing numbers were visible. One Maserati had its fairing tipped with crimson, and Jerry knew that this car belonged to Giulio Radezza. He saw the driver leaning against the front of the pit, sucking an orange; he was an insignificant little man, until one looked closely at him, and saw his wiry build. He had sunken, fleshless cheeks and, because he was so spare, his eyes looked out front bony hollows; his jaw was peculiarly shaped, and even in repose his lower lip was drawn down, so that he seemed to be half laughing.

Just beyond stood the Rochelle team, and these cars Ellison wanted to beat. They ran under the international blue of France, but some development of the market gave their sports models large sales in England, and Ellison hoped that— however the race might end— if he could lead from them he would show that his productions were superior.

Further along was a French team— l'equipe Gustave— which, like the Italian stable, was a combination of racing drivers who worked together, sharing expenses and pooling anything which they might win. Entries of such stables were always formidable, and the cars were handled by skilled men, who could be ruthless in their driving methods, and who definitely entered a race to win. They had a Bugatti and two Alfa-Romeos, all painted blue, and their pit was filled with untidy looking mechanics, who leaned out to watch the green cars pass.

Jerry saw the pit of the official Alfa Romeo team, its men and machines quietly efficient; over the depot lay an air of confidence, engendered by the successes that these blood-red cars had achieved. Farther along was the pit allotted to the white-painted team that had come from Germany, although none of these machines had yet arrived at the start. Next lay the Ace depot, formed by three pits, each just long enough to allow a car to stand broadside before it.

Mechanics, who had been waiting there, freed the cars from their towropes, and these men had made everything ready. Polished churns were in position, tools were laid out on the counter, with sparking plugs, oil-jugs and filler funnels; fuel tins, cans of oil, spare wheels and big jacks were stacked at the back, where the sunshine struck across a path behind the replenishment depots, catching pit signals standing near the oil-drums on which the time keepers would squat.

The three machines were manhandled into position, then Jerry helped Joe Naylor change the wheels on which his car had been brought down, replacing them by others that had been balanced, himself locking the eared hub-caps with powerful blows of a copper-headed hammer. Joe started his engine up again, and kept it running for a little while before it was silenced and rugged up once more. After that the sparking plugs were changed, the petrol tank was filled until it brimmed over, oil and water received attention--then there was nothing more to be done.

Other machines arrived. The stand filled completely. Crowds craned at the enclosure fencing, staring across the road. Loud-sneakers recorded lively music which was half lost in the uneven roar which formed an impatient background to the strident bellow of cars warming up, and the swift, high calling of French officials who flitted along the lane of pits upon business of their own. Everything was a swirl of colour and ceaseless movement, except where the flags drooped in front of the stand roof, and out at the starting point itself. Here the hot sun glistened upon short lines that were like broad white hyphens, each marking the position for a racing car, the number of which was painted in front of the line.

As the minutes slipped past, the increasing excitement of the crowd, the jostling in the enclosures, the scurry of mechanics and the hurry of officials brought the tension to such acuteness that Jerry found his palms growing damp and his mouth dry. When he looked towards Palmer and Dan Martin he saw that both were feeling the strain and their faces were set as they sorted out their racing kit.  He dragged his own from the cockpit of has car, changing his footwear for thin-soled shoes with straps that fastened over the instep. He buckled an abdominal belt over his sweater, and Joe helped him draw on white overalls and after to secure them at wrists and ankles. He was sliding a blue silk scarf around his neck, under the collar of his sweater, when he saw Evelyn run into the pit. He stepped towards her.

Saying nothing, she reached over the plank to tie the scarf for him, pressing it down so that it would guard him against the grit and dust flung back by other machines, and which would chafe painfully if it reached the skin about his throat. He thought that her hands were trembling a little, but she was smiling at him.

'I'll be here when you come in for fuel ' she said. 'I’ve brought two chicken sandwiches and some lemonade— I’ll have it all ready.'

'Thanks, I’ll be hungry by then.' He thought his voice sounded a little thick. 'I don't feel like eating now.'

'I know— the waiting is beastly! But all the others feel it, too— look at Buchmann!' She pointed towards the German pit next door. The white cars had long since arrived, and Jerry saw Georg Buchmann holding a handkerchief in both hands as he stared at his car. He was twisting the cloth over the fingers of one hand, rolling it back again as fast as it slipped clear, making the movement ceaselessly, obviously not realising what he was doing. Four years before, Buchmann had won the Targa Florio over the hazardous course in the Madonie mountains: he held the lap record for the dangerous Nurburg Ring circuit and was said to be as cool and as calculating as any driver when he was at the wheel of his car and moving at speed. He was nervous now

'He’ll be all right when he starts— and so will you,' Evelyn added.

Jerry looked at her, and wondered how it was that she had overcome the fear she had shown earlier. He could not understand that she was now hiding anything that she felt, doing her utmost to make him steady. She talked on in her quiet, clear voice, but he hardly heeded what she said as he watched Bill Palmer and Dan make ready.

Palmer had pulled a sweater over his singlet, before they left the village, but he removed this now, and fastened his abdominal belt above the slip, his mechanic adjusting the straps carefully; Palmer wanted to feel tho tight grip of the belt about, his waist, supporting him when he was bucketed and hammered under the hard springs of the car he had to drive. He secured the bottoms of his old flannel trousers with sections cut from the inner tube of a tyre, slipped over his ankles, then he donned a blue smock which came only to his waist, fastening this with another belt. He kicked on a pair of battered white shoes, completing his preparations. Martin wore neither overalls nor sweater, only a red shirt with an open neck and sleeves clipped above the elbows; that and a black scarf drawn tightly about his throat.

Marshals were calling the cars to the line now. Jerry saw Ellison speak to Bill and Dan in turn; he came over as they pushed their machines away.

‘I’ll flag you at about 25 laps— after half distance.' he said. 'Take it easy for the first two laps and then watch for signals. If I tell you to go faster. I’ll give you the numbers of the machines I want you to pass. Understand?'

'Yes. thanks.' Ellison gripped his hand, then Jerry turned to Evelyn. She was smiling still, and her eyes were bright as she bent to whisper to him.

‘I’d kiss you for good luck, if I dared, but too many people are about.' Her fingers closed on his, warm and firm. 'Au revoir!'

He answered, then turned to his car. Joe Naylor pushed on the tail and Jerry walked beside the machine, steering it past the end of the pits to where other machines were already getting into position. As each car rolled up, loud-speakers announced its arrival and introduced the driver to the accompaniment of bursts of applause. Jerry heard his own name beamed in French accents as marshals waved him towards the broad line at which the car must stop and, following their directions, Jerry had no chance to look back. He could not see that Evelyn's smile had died: she was leaning over the pit-plank still watching him, her eyes dark again now.

He stopped the car and fastened his helmet, slipping on a pair of goggles and letting them fall about his neck, while Joe dragged the starting handle from the cockpit and thrust it into place, ready to rouse the engine. Machines were coming rapidly into position before and behind, all silent as yet, drivers standing by them, busy with gloves and goggles, or calling to one another.

Radezza had moved from his black Maserati to talk to the burly Buchmann, and both were laughing; The German's nervousness had vanished. Gustave, who led his equipe, was whispering in the ear of Sezanne, a sinewy, dark-featured man who was driving a Rochelle. Although they talked, neither would give quarter to the other alter the flag fell.

Italian drivers in the Alfa-Romeo team stood silently by their cars; the drivers in the official Bugatti team were just as quiet and just as determined to battle for France. These men, and the German drivers — and, perhaps, the Ace team— directly represented the countries under the colours of which they ran; the rest were buccaneers of speed, racing for the sport of it and for the prizes that it promised. They were freelances, backed solely by their own skill and not. supported by any great factory— daring men who would make any race a desperate venture.

Jerry looked at the Aces beside his own, and saw Bill Palmer dragging on his helmet. He was scowling, studying the positions of the machines in front, deciding what measures he would take to pass them in the first furious rush after the flag fell.

Dan Martin leaned across the tail of his car, calling to Jerry.

'All ready for it? If you see either Bill or myself at the side of the road, that'll be a tip to put your foot down. There'll be no need to wait until you get the signal from the pit.'

'You won't blow up.’ Jerry assured him. 'Well, good luck!’

Margin waved his hand, and Jerry called the same wish to Palmer. The pale-faced man glanced at him. and growled. 'Thanks. I need some luck:' he said. 'This isn’t going to be a picnic!'

Jerry pulled on a pair of gloves from which the fingers had been clipped. He adjusted them carefully, although there was no need for that, because they were old and easy-fitting. He saw other drivers mounting their machines and he climbed into the cockpit as the starter took his place, his tricoleur furled against its staff.

The cars were drawn up in rows of three and four, with the green Aces together, immediately in front were two Bugattis and one of the German cars, then the blue Rochelle; and with the Alfa-Romeo team ahead. Radezza's Maseratis and Gustave's cars were behind with the rest of the entrants.

A man beside the starter lifted a chalked board. Joe saw it, and whipped the blanket from the radiator as he bent to the crank handle.

'Ready, sir?'' he yelled. The appearance of the board was a signal that only two minutes remained before the flag would fall. Joe swung on the handle— once, then again, turning the engine against its compression, staggering back as the power-unit roared thunderously, drowning the sound made by other machines, rousing all around. Here and there men push-started a car, disturbing the even ranks, but they came back into formation again and mechanics began to run to the side of the road.

Joe leaned over the cockpit, ramming the starting handle into its clips by Jerry's seat. 'Best o' luck, sir!' he yelled, bending close. 'I’ll look after the young lady for you!' His brown eyes were bright with excitement. as he patted Jerry's shoulder; he lingered a moment, then snatched up the blanket and darted away.

Smoke drifted from cars in front, masking the starter, and Jerry, craning up, saw that the board had vanished and that the flag was now held high. Before him was a vista of stumpy tails and bent, helmeted heads, rigid from concentrated attention. Sun caught the cars through their drifting smoke, and he saw the crowd, staring and now quite still. Dim in front was the straight road, green-tipped with trees, tapering into the distance. Each waiting machine was uttering its challenge to the rest, the Bugatti venting a tearing snarl, the Alfa-Romeos crackling crisply, and the Maseratis adding their bellowing, all sound massing as the folds of the flag swung faintly when it lifted a little higher— higher yet— then dropped.

Jerry's foot went down on the throttle control and the clutch pedal came up as the blue Bugattis leaped away from him, one skidding out in a power-slide, jerking straight instantly. He shot forward over the mark that it left on the road, then Radezza's black Maserati flashed alongside, passing him. Cars appeared on either hand, then he was in the heart of a howling jockeying pack, racing wheel to wheel, with Radezza and Bill Palmer pulling out to the edge of the road, seeking room to pass the rest.

The drifting smoke was left behind. Spinning tyres kicked back a veil of dust through which the machines, with the sun catching their metal flanks, shone briefly, then became visible only as blurred and receding shapes, and their roaring dwindled. Radezza took his black machine clear of the pack, and Buchmann brought up his bone-white German car, both fighting for the lead. Palmer's Ace and Gustave's blue Bugatti raced with them, and these four spread over the road as one of the Alfa-Romeos slipped to their tails, so that the five led a bellowing bunch of collared cars away down the straight.

The green of the Aces flecked the blue and the white, the red and the black of the shifting cars, and back at the Ace pit, Evelyn and Joe Naylor and Ellison watched them go.

Watched them— and wondered if all three would return.

2. Smoke At Chatillon

WHEN A race opens with a massed start, the first mile is always difficult for those drivers who do not draw clear ahead at the fall of the flag. They are caught in a pack of machines that pass and re-pass, travelling wheel to wheel, each driver seeking an opening that will permit a clear run after the leaders and all moving in a desperate uproar which urges a man to stamp the throttle pedal flat and accept the challenge of his immediate rivals. This was Jerry's experience as the cars roared down the wide road, their starting formation swiftly breaking up, and he knew what was wanted of him now. His job was to hold his own and allow the rest to sort themselves out; but this did not mean moving slowly, or allowing the Ace to fall into a position at the back of the pack. It meant driving as hard as he could without asking too much of his machine, watching his revolution counter all the while— and this instrument is of vital importance to a racing man.

He carries no speedometer; he is, in fact, not interested in actual road speed. He governs his pace by his engine revolutions The faster the engine is turning over, the faster the car travels;  equally, the higher the revolutions, the greater the strain on the engine and the less likely it is to stay the course. For this reason the dial of the revolution counter on Jerry's machine carried three painted sectors. The first was green, indicating a speed which the car could maintain indefinitely. When the needle shifted into the next sector— yellow— the engine was turning over at a pace which could safely upheld, but which, at the same time, was very high. The third sector was red, and marked the absolute limit to which the engine revolutions should be lifted; the  further the needle lay across this red strip, the greater the strain on the machine.

Obviously, it was a driver's business to keep the needle of his revolution counter as low as possible, and so save his engine, while it was the purpose of every other man in the race to make him lift the needle to the far side of the red strip, thereby overstressing his power unit and lessening its stamina, a man who was forced to do this, driving flat out from the start, was not likely to last very long, unless he was gifted with an engine which could stand the strain.

As a matter of race tactics, however, the men who snatched the lead from the fall of the flag deliberately risked sacrificing their engines, each trying to make a pace which would crack up those who strove to hold his speed. Eventually, one of them would win the duel, and could ease off, although he would be certain soon to find himself challenged by cars entered to back up the machines he had defeated.

It was the concern of the driver on the second machine in each team to keep far enough forward to enable him to come into the fight if his team leader fell out. As men in the 'second string' could not tell what was happening ahead, each had to rely upon signals from his depot, and these signals were governed by knowledge secured from timekeepers, who manipulated stopwatches in each pit, clocking all cars challenging their own. The only men who could ignore these precautions were drivers making individual efforts in the race, but even they were wise to submit to pit control. No motor race is a haphazard affair, with each man going as hard as he can— not, at any rate, during the opening laps. When weaker cars have been eliminated, and the issue becomes clear, matters may grow a little more desperate.

Broadly viewed, it was Bill Palmer's job to drive with his revolution counter needle in the red; Dan Martin would follow fast, his needle over the yellow sector, while Jerry held his needle over the green strip, with occasional excursions into the yellow. In top gear, the green sector gave him a road speed of more than a hundred and fifteen miles an hour, and, despite his watchfulness, he found his needle sliding up across the yellow strip during the first furious mile of the race

He could just see Dan Martin in front, riding half a length ahead of an Italian machine, with one of Buchmann's team trying to pass them both. The cars stirred the thin dust already raised by the machines which had gone ahead, and this spread outwards, hazing the trees that bordered the straight, so that their trunks, and the spectators who stood between them, became a sliding wall of dull, blurred colour.  Machines came up on either side of Jerry's Ace. striving to pass; he lost them all except a Bugatti, which clung to him tenaciously and fell back only when he sighted the buildings of La Motte, a village which lay immediately beyond the first corner of the course. Roofs shone in the sunlight, with an escape road running between the houses, ending where people crowded behind a palisade. Martin's Ace and its pursuers had drawn well ahead then, and as they swung out on the road, momentarily appearing almost broadside while they went into the turn, Jerry heard a roar above that of his own machine and a blue car flashed almost level.

For a moment he thought that it was the Bugatti. challenging him again, then he recognised one of the Rochelles. The driver was Sezanne: he led his team and had been trapped by the pack at the start. He took his car past, trying to come up with the leaders and holding full throttle until almost the last moment, then using his brakes savagely. He entered the turn a shade too fast, skidding with grit skating from his tyres before he straightened out. The skid delayed him, and the Ace was cutting across the inside of the turn when he went on. the green car only a yard behind, and Jerry's pace matched that of Sezanne as the two cars went down the road from La Motte.

The way narrowed here and pine trees flung deep, cool shadows. Spectators were packed behind wire fencing strung between the slim, dark trunks: they slammed back the roar of the fast-moving cars, and the branches which reached out over the road above them seemed oddly still as they hung, dull green, against the sunlit sky.

Jerry knew that Sezanne wanted to leave him behind, but he clung to the Rochelle and, where the road curved in a fast bend, tine two travelled at rising speed, Jerry was still holding Sezanne when the course turned abruptly into dangerous s-bends and they braked together, changing down in unison. The machines went into the bends with Jerry keeping his radiator almost on Sezanne's tail, taking his opportunity to harry the Rochelle. He slammed the throttle pedal flat as they cleared the last curve; gears whining and exhaust bellowing, he drew level then shot ahead, putting the Ace in front again and entering an easy climbing sweep of road which ended in the village of Valencay, at the back of the eight-mile circuit.

Jerry heard Sezanne roaring furiously behind him, and he drew over to give him room to pass. He knew that the Rochelle would go by but, given the chance, Jerry meant to place the Ace ahead again. Such tactics might goad Sezanne into asking too much from his engine as they came away from some corner and that, perhaps, would do something towards cracking the car up and making one rival less for Bill Palmer and Dan.

Jerry snapped to top gear as the pine trees fell away, giving place to wide, grassy stretches. Valencay came in to sight, its entrance marked by little grandstands on either side of the road, and by a footbridge which framed the flat fronts of houses. A path at one side was fenced in. and every few yards a gendarme was stationed to oblige people on the path to take refuge in doorways when cars were going by. Spectators hung from the windows above, so that the house walls were patched with bunched and protruding figures.

These walls echoed the roar of the Ace as Jerry shot under the footbridge; now his revolution counter needle was lifting too high on the dial, and he eased his foot on the throttle pedal. The Rochelle drew level, and for long moments the combined up roar of the two cars filled the village, then the houses fell away, Sezanne shot ahead, and Jerry slowed for the corner which marked the second point of the triangular course. This was a bend rather than a corner, and it formed a vantage point for the crowds. On the inside was an estaminet, but the tables outside it had been cleared away, while the entrance and the lower windows had been barricaded; the road ran right up to the face of the building and drivers cutting the curve, could shave the brickwork with their wheel-hubs. Roads met here, that from La Motte continuing straight on, while the circuit turned on to a highway which ran to Chatillon, the third point of the course. The road-ends were fenced across, and behind the barricades were lorries which formed improvised grandstands.

Sezanne cut the corner and Jerry followed in his track. He was already pushing his machine as fast as he dared, and now Sezanne left him behind, treading the throttle open and drawing away into a straight which ran to where the dark mass of a wood straddled the road. Gendarmes, spaced out at either side of the way, kept the crowds under control, and they formed a line of lounging figures which vanished when the wood drew near and steep banks leaped up on either hand.

The Rochelle had drawn well clear now, and Jerry slowed for the dip which lay in the heart of the wood, approached by an other fast curve. He pulled his machine close in to the edge of the road, then braced himself as he entered the bend, and, an instant later, came to the long, shallow drop beyond.

The road here was black; trees all but touched their branches above, throwing deep shadows and when the Ace pitched into the dip, Sezanne was already clearing the rise at the other side. Jerry followed, mounting the crest and entering an absolutely straight mile that dropped down to Chatillon corner, beyond which the course turned back to the pits.

Open ground came again, and the falling road induced such speed that Jerry had to ease his foot on the throttle pedal, allowing the Rochelle to roar away from him, Sezanne now travelling at full bore. He was far ahead by the time Jerry neared Chatillon, beyond the roofs of which showed Auvergne itself, two miles distant and visible as a huddle of buildings on a hillside.

He peered past the edge of his wind shield, timing his approach to the corner, the most dangerous on the course. Another footbridge, at the start of the village, soared overhead and he concentrated his attention upon the turn. He began to brake as he saw, dead ahead, a sandbank along which a yellow advertisement banner had been pegged: it lay like a barrier across the road, marking the outside of the corner. Backing it was a heavy palisade of railway sleepers, placed on end and guarding the footpath. There was no escape road to the turn; the great sandbank and the palisade were necessary to protect people against a machine which might leave the course in attempting to take the corner too fast.

The Rochelle had vanished round the turn when Jerry came up, braking and changing down again, putting his machine into the corner steadily, accelerating all the way through it to the broad straight beyond. He saw Sezanne in the dust-haze ahead, and wished that he could chase him as he held the car to the middle of the road, opening out until the revolution counter needle had climbed into the green again. He kept it there, glancing into his driving mirror.

He could see no other car behind him. He knew that he had drawn well clear from the rest and that, he judged, was good. He calculated that Bill Palmer must be up among the first three, that Dan would be lying sixth or seventh, and his own Ace must be travelling in about tenth position. If this were correct, the cars were placed exactly as Ellison would have wished and probably as a team, they held a better position than any other.

Touching two miles a minute down the broad route rationale which formed this side of the circuit, Jerry looked at his gauges. Oil and water temperatures were just right, and everything was running sweetly. His glance took in the little card, which, mounted under the scuttle fairing, duplicated the signals held in readiness at the depot. A blue square meant 'Slower’: and there was a circle for ‘OK’. A triangle ordered ‘Faster!’ and there was a plus sign for ‘Come In.'  The signs for the other two cars were the same, except that Palmer's were red and Martin's were white on a black ground.

Any uneasiness which Jerry might have felt before the start had long vanished. Beyond the minor duel with the Rochelle, his first lap had been completely uneventful, and, but for the blurred shape gradually drawing away ahead, he might have been alone on the course. Wind whined steadily past his head; the sound of his engine, the deep drumming of his exhaust, and the high drone of the supercharger made an even note which spoke of safety. Down this straight he had only to keep the car on its course, and it was go like a practice run that the shadowy fears which had existed before the start were completely dispelled. He felt that nothing much could happen.

The crowds which lined the roadside— here greater than anywhere else— seemed quite emotionless and calm. The sun caught the tinted pages of their race programmes; groups ate sandwiches as they clustered about baskets; people sat on the roofs of cars parked behind the trees, which dappled the road with patches of shadow. They fell away and gave place to enclosures before the grandstand and the pits swept up.

The replenishment depots were like a line of low caves, and he glimpsed figures leaning from his own. There was no signal for him yet, and he lifted his left hand to his helmet, as a sign that all was well with the car. He saw an arm wave in reply— Evelyn’s, he thought, but he could not be sure. He roared past and started his second lap. It was a duplicate of the first; he cornered steadily, running no risks, and keeping his revolutions down. Nothing overtook him, and he saw no other machines, but when he came to the pits again a signal was flying. It was the blue circle of the ‘OK’ sign. Joe was squatting on the counter with it, and Evelyn was leaning beside him. She waved as Jerry acknowledged the signal and sped down the long straight once more, resisting the temptation to open out a little.

La Motte came up and slid behind. He cleared the S-bends and ran through Valencay catching sight— as he entered the village— of a gendarme blowing a little trumpet just beyond the footbridge, warning those on the path that a car was approaching. It was when he had left the village for the run to the bend in the wood before Chatillon that he saw a figure start into activity on the roadside. A man with a brassard on his arm was waving a dull blue flag furiously, warning him that something had happened ahead.

Jerry’s grip tightened on the wheel, and he made ready to use his brakes. The dark blur of the wood rushed to meet him. when he saw another official This man was a yard out from the edge of the road, swinging his flag in great sweeping circles, leaping back as the Ace came up, slowing for the curve. A third official was on the out side of the bend, waving like the others and above him on the bank, amongst the trees, were spectators, running and jostling one another, all moving in the same direction as the car. Jerry cleared the curve, and on the rise beyond the dip a fourth blue flag was fluttering. The machine leaped up the low rise, and, where the road ran straight ahead, a great crowd clustered, just by the end of the wood.

Men were snatching debris from the road surface, darting out of the way when they heard the Ace. Smoke was trailing up into the air from a car that lay half in the shallow ditch and half up the low bank beyond; men were scattered about it, and gendarmes held back the crowd. Smoke drifted over them all, and a figure in white overalls was being supported. Passing, accelerating again, Jerry gained one photographic glimpse of the man; he had one arm raised weakly, as if he were trying to assure the crowd that he was not much hurt.

Below him, the car lay completely upside down, one front wheel buckled and blue bodywork crushed. Jerry could not catch its number, but he saw that it was a Bugatti, and knew that the crash could have occurred only a little time before, because debris and torn earth still scattered on the road, while one of his wheels caught a fragment of aluminium from the wrecked body of the car and sent it skimming through the air, flashing like silver.

To Jerry the whole incident seemed detached and remote from himself as his machine raced on down the falling road. He wondered who it was that had crashed and. watching for Chatillon corner, he tried to remember what Bugattis lay ahead. He went through the turn at Chatillon, and as he approached the tribunes he saw his own ‘OK’ signal still flying. It was then that he heard a growing roar behind him and glimpsed a machine reflected in his driving mirror, just before the car swept level.

It was an Alfa-Romeo, painted blue— one of Gustave's team. Jerry knew, then, that it was Gustave who had crashed. His team-mate was coming up to carry on the fight, and grit flung back by the car stung Jerry's face when it went ahead. He guessed that Gustave must have left the road in trying to pass one of the race leaders and, thinking of this, he wondered what Palmer was doing; if he could have glimpsed the scene in the Ace depot, he would have known.

Ellison was standing watchfully behind the timekeepers. The mechanics were leaning against the pit counters, not talking very much, as if they feared that speech might destroy good luck;  Radezza was leading but Palmer was  never more than a few yards behind. He was close upon the Maserati's tail at every corner, goading the Italian on, always matching the best that he could do and ever forcing him to ask his machine for still greater speed. Again and again Radezza arrived at La Motte or Chatillon with the throttle pedal stamped flat, brakes droning harshly at the last moment, tyres shrilling on the turn, with Palmer placing his car ready to pass beyond the corner— but never going by.

He did not want to pass yet, and Ellison let him ride his own race, because he knew that Palmer was hounding Radezza. trying to make him crack. If he failed in this, then Palmer would go ahead and set the pace himself, because he had the measure of the black machine.

With every lap the two drew a little farther from Buchmann, who was duelling with one of the Alfa-Romeo team. Farther back, Dan Martin was holding sixth place, travelling steadily. Like Jerry, he now received the ‘O.K.’ signal on every second lap, but that changed when Radezza make a furious effort to lose the green machine, which followed him so closely. He set a pace that brought signals flying from nearly every depot, and all cars sped up to prevent the leaders getting too far ahead. Jerry saw the blue triangle thrust out at his own pit. In response, he used more throttle opening down the straight. and during all the nest lap he looked for Palmer and Martin, thinking that one of them might have fallen put. He saw nothing except a Bugatti halted in Valencay. and one of the Rochelle team running slowly to Chatillon, with a rear tyre flapping in tatters of rubber and canvas. There was no signal at his pit when he next passed, and he continued at the same speed, lifting his revolution counter needle into the yellow on the straights, cutting out a shade later on his approaches to the turns. Next time he was flagged ‘OK’.

He lost count of the laps that he had done, and the increased pace brought trouble to some machines. With the increased pace, Jerry began to feel that a real fight was brewing, and he gave all his attention to his handling of the machine, forgetting the crowds. He thought only of the road immediately ahead, working out his approach to the bends and turns, saving his tyres on the corners, striving to be perfect in his driving. He still had the course to himself, and only once did another machine challenge him. This was the German car that he had seen at La Motte. The driver had got going again, and when Jerry overtook him the German attempted to re-pass; Jerry held him off for two laps, then the white car fell away. It was drawn clear of the road, with gendarmes on guard over it. when the Ace came round again. The driver was walking to the pits and he waved, grinning ruefully.

The cockpit of the Ace was very hot now, and Jerry's feet were caught by the heat from the engine; he was thirsty, too. He had time to think of this down the long straight past the grandstand, and he reminded himself that he must watch for his ‘Come In’ signal. He wondered if Palmer and Martin would be called in before himself for refuelling, and they might have been had not a change come over the race.

Palmer suddenly decided that it was time he took the lead, and, clear of Chatillon. he began steadily to close on the black-painted machine. The two came up to the pits with the Maserati still in the lead, but now the dust which skimmed in a thin steam from under its short tail, spreading outwards, was mown down by the front of Palmer's Ace.

He was almost level when they left the depots behind, and Radezza could no longer hold him off; Palmer had been keeping a little in hand and used it now. He was in the lead when they reached La Motte. Palmer pulling wide, as he always did. Out of the turn, Radezza tried to cling to the race, but Palmer drew away from him all round the course, and had a lead of two hundred yards when they passed the pits again. He was showing his real speed, and after one more lap the line of depots became ablaze with signals— with coloured disks, pole-borne signs and blunt, black semaphore arms pointing against white boards.

Buchmann and the Alfa-Romeo were signalled ‘Faster!’ while a white triangle on a black ground gave the same order to Dan Martin. Then Jerry, coming to the tribunes, saw a double signal flying for himself: a blue triangle and the plus sign— ‘Faster!’ and ‘Come In!’ It meant that he was to open up over the next lap, gaining time and making up for a replenishment stop at the end of it. He pushed one hand up into the wind-stream that shot over the edge of his scuttle.

Evelyn, watching him pass, saw his smile and heard the added roar of his exhaust when he stepped hard on the throttle, watching the needle come up into the red sector. He approached La Motte faster than ever before, and held his pace until the last moment before he came to the S-bends beyond, to go through them with his tyres shrilling, the car all but skidding. He rammed the throttle open again in the rush through Valencay, to corner steadily at Chatillon and, as he went along the straight back to the pits, he turned his thoughts to the replenishment work ahead, every detail of which had been planned and practised by himself and Joe Naylor.

He was being called in first, so that Palmer might have the chance to establish a real lead before he stopped: after Jerry had gone. Palmer would be halted, then Martin would be signalled to stop. Jerry saw the grandstand and looked for Joe; he was standing at the front of the depot, both arms lifted high. Jerry switched off his engine and pulled over, timing his approach, using his brakes hard in the last few yards, and bringing the car to a halt only when it was all but touching the mechanic.

Jerry levered himself up in the cockpit, stumbling out to begin the work of replenishing with water and oil, while Joe attended to the fuel. Jerry's legs were stiff, and he was a little deafened by the noise in which he had been travelling, but his every movement was calculated and swift, while his deafness passed. It was when he turned to the pit counter his own share or the work finished, that he heard Joe's voice. 'Tyres OK!’ he shouted. He meant that there was no need for a change or wheels, and he was then reaching for the last churn of petrol.

Jerry saw Evelyn at the counter in front of him, two sandwiches in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. He took the glass, and saw Ellison lean over the plank, calling ‘You're doing splendidly. Palmer is leading, Martin is sixth— you're ninth!’

Jerry drank thirstily, snatching the sandwiches from Evelyn with his free hand. She made no attempt to speak but stood smiling, taking the glass when he had emptied it while Joe snouted again. ‘Get in, sir!’

The last churn flashed as the mechanic tossed it to the pit. Jerry crammed half of one sandwich into his mouth and dived for the car, sliding in. The filler-funnel followed the churn, and Joe called a third time as he snapped shut the filler cap in the tail.

‘Switch on, sir.’ Jerry obeyed. He dropped the remainder of the sandwiches to his thighs, then slid into top gear as the mechanic started to push the car. He got it rolling, Jerry let up the clutch, the engine fired and he changed to second gear, then eased the throttle open and went roaring away, glancing over his shoulder. He thought he saw Evelyn waving to him. and he lifted a hand in response, then he was sliding through his gears, munching at the remnants of the sandwiches, anxious to eat all of them before he reached La Motte. Behind him. Ellison was patting Joe on the shoulder. ‘That was fast work— sixty-five seconds!’ he said.

As he left the pits. Jerry wondered if, owing to his delay for replenishment. Palmer would now over take him, because he could be only a little distance behind, it was inspiring to know that an Ace led the race, and Jerry could imagine the way Palmer was driving— bolt upright behind the wheel, his little wind-shield turned flat, his pale, hard face hidden under dust while he showed that even Radezza's fiery skill could be beaten.

Jerry knew that Bill Palmer was setting a pace far higher than anything that Perrugi had achieved on the Lasarte circuit, while the Auvergne course was much faster than the Italian roads where Tim Duggan had ran, so that the position which the Aces now held was a definite answer to the fears that had existed during practice. Since the machines were now travelling at much greater speed, racing safely and without danger, the accidents at Lasarte and in Italy must, as Ellison insisted, have been just— accidents.

Jerry went through La Motte, took the bends beyond, and on the fast run to Valencay he saw how the crowds leaned forward, peering down the road; he guessed this was because Palmer was due, and that they mistook his own car for the leading Ace. It seemed to him that there was something triumphant in the echoes roused his machine as he plunged between the buildings, and, from sheer elation, he cut closer than ever before to the front of the estaminet at the cross roads, then went under the wide-open bend he glanced at the Bugatti in tie ditch; only a little crowd remained about it now, and two gendarmes prevented spectators trying to take bits of the wreckage as souvenirs

Picking up speed again down the sloping road to Chatillon. Jerry’s driving mirror reflected a blurred shape on the road. When he looked into the mirror again he saw that it was Palmer, coming up tremendously fast. Jerry waved him on, then drew still closer to the road edge.

He was him self moving at above two miles a minute, and not until he was almost at the footbridge in front of Chatillon did he hear the roar of Palmer's machine merging with his own. The bridge flashed overhead, and Jerry reached for his brakes; as he began to slow, the leading Ace leapt past, still travelling flat out. Small stones and grit volleyed back from its rear wheels, and Jerry ducked from the hail, watching the car while he rammed harder on his brake pedal. He could see the back of Palmer's head, and his shoulders above the seat squab. He was rigid, shifting only with his car— and he showed no sign of slowing. The exhaust still bellowed on a full-throated note.

Jerry changed down, using his brakes fiercely now. Palmer was approaching the corner so fast that he mast inevitably skid in the turn, and Jerry wanted to remain well behind him, giving him the room that he would need. Then, abruptly, he realised that Palmer had travelled far beyond any emergency braking point. He was not slowing for the corner, the car was still roaring under full throttle— and officials began to run from the end of the yellow-covered sandbank.

Suddenly, all the people grouped about the corner were moving. Spectators in a fenced enclosure jumped back. Men who had clambered to the top of the palisade vanished. Everything at the corner roused to agitated, alarmed movement everyone striving to get away from the approaching car.

Palmer was driving as if no turn existed, as if the way were open before him, keeping the machine moving at the limit of its speed. Jerry shouted involuntarily as he saw it charge straight across the corner, while the buildings around crashed back its echoes, so that the machine hurtled at the sandbank and the palisade in a crescendo of blattering sound.

In the last moment Jerry thought he heard Palmer use his brakes, then the car struck the bank head on. Sand flew, spouting wide as the Ace smashed into the palisade, turning sideways, the tail rearing. Jerry— braking madly, his car sliding— saw woodwork from the palisade flying high and the tail of the machine whipping upward, shining before it disappeared In a wild whirl of sand and shattered fencing.

There was left only a great hole In the palisade, beyond which dark dust fumed and swirled, debris streaking above, while in its heart the car leaped blackly— leaped and pounded and smashed its way on.

For the third time an Ace had held the lead in the race and for the third time an Ace had crashed.

Bill Palmer would never tell why.

3. Thundering Through Valencay

IT WAS QUIET in the Ace replenishment depot. No one yet knew of the crash at Chatillon corner, and every thing was ready for a replenishment stop which Bill Palmer would never make. Petrol churns, heavy with filtered fuel, stood on the counter beside long-snouted cans containing water and oil: spare wheels had been prepared there were clean goggles waiting for the driver and Ellison himself stood by a bottle of champagne and a glass.

Sezanne went past on his blue Rochelle. As the sound of the machine died away a car accelerated from its pit further along the line, then the time keeper spoke. 'Due in twenty seconds, Mr. Ellison, he should be in sight now!'

Ellison leaned out over the pit counter, mechanics peering with him, all gazing down the straight to Chatillon. Bill Palmers' car should have been visible little more than half a mile away. but the road was empty. No one spoke and Evelyn, glancing at Ellison, saw him begin to frown as the seconds dragged on. 'He's overdue, sir!' the timekeeper called again.

Loud-speakers at either end of the enclosure opposite were blaring a lively tune. Wind riffled the flags on the grandstand, blowing straw from the bales by the enclosure fence, tumbling it along the road. A man in the next pit called something, and the rest of the crew laughed, their voices noisy through the tension which had suddenly fallen over the Ace depot.

Joe Naylor broke it. 'Here he is!' A dark shape appeared on the road. They heard its approaching roar above the music. The lines of the car became dearer, and Palmer's mechanic shouted— 'It's him, all right!' His tone was relieved. He started to climb over the counter, grabbing at the wheel-jack, then stopped short, when he missed the upright driving position of Bill Palmer. The car was pulling over towards the pits, and it was Joe who shouted next.

'It's my car, sir!' They heard Jerry's engine cut out and caught the sound of his brakes. The tall of the machine slid, swung straight, then slid again as the car skidded to a stop in front of the pit. People in the grandstand had come to their feet, spectators in the enclosure were crowding forward, men in the adjacent depots were looking out— all conscious of something unusual. Jerry craned from behind the wheel and shouted hoarsely, making his voice carry above the noise of his fast running engine.

‘Bill crashed at Chatillon!’ Ellison's eyes widened, his mouth opened a little. ‘He drove straight into the corner and went through the fence— he’d just passed me!’ Jerry’s mind was still filled with the memory of the car travelling under full throttle— the palisade smashing— sand flying— timber and debris leaping high.

‘He was flat out— didn't attempt to take it!’ Jerry called. They were staring blankly at him now. He saw Ellison's lips move. Palmer's mechanic darted forward, the colour leaving his face as he bent over the cockpit. ‘Is it bad, sir?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’

‘I tell you he drove straight into the fence!’ Jerry's voice cracked. ‘Get someone down there. Don't stand there like a lot of fools!’ The men in the pit stirred. Ellison leaned over the counter, shouting, but Jerry could not hear. The mechanic bent close, yelling, ‘The guv’nor says drive on— watch for signals!’

‘All right, but get down there quickly!’

He wanted to stop. He wanted to tell them what he had seen. He wanted to make them understand the utter unreasonableness of the crash, to explain how Bill Palmer had not tried to slow for the comer — but Ellison was giving him orders to drive on and that, perhaps, was the best thing. Bill might have escaped the fate that had overtaken ‘Gipsy’ and Tim, and Jerry knew that he must get into the race again and back up Dan Martin, because he would soon be fighting to take the place that Bill had held.

Jerry swung his car straight and, as it surged away, Radezza brought his black Maserati pitching down the centre of the road. He was in the lead now, roaring on while the Ace gathered speed, Evelyn gazing after it, hardly able to appreciate what had happened.

She saw Palmer's mechanic dart away, running in the direction of Chatillon, and heard Ellison calling for Dr. Relf, then she saw two men appear from the chronometrage at the end of the pits, making for the path at the back of the depots, leaving behind them officials whose movements were urgent and excited. She stood dumbly, mentally stunned, not comprehending anything clearly except that, all in a moment, the thing; they most feared had been realised. An Ace had crashed again— had crashed strangely.

‘Straight into the corner— flat out— didn’t attempt to take it— get some one down there!’

Jerry's voice seemed to echo while she watched Ellison and Relf run out from the back of the pit. The big man turning to call to his foreman, 'Tad' Long.

'Bring Mr. Martin in for fuel, then tell him to go ahead. Signal Mr. Ross to close up!' The foreman shouted an answer, and the two went on down the path, Dr. Relf with his brown portmanteau swinging from his hand.

They met the officials who had received news over the telephone, but Ellison hardly paused to hear what they had to say. He caught Relf's arm and dashed on: they vanished as the foreman began to give orders.

‘When is Number Eleven due?’

‘Thirty-five seconds,’ the time keeper replied.

‘Give him the COME IN!''

Tad Long called to Martin's mechanic. ‘Make ready— this has got to be a quick stop.’

‘Change wheels, Tad?’ a voice asked.

‘If he wants 'em— put them out, any way!’ The voices were quick, their tones forced. Only the men in Martin's section of the pit moved, the rest remained looking towards Chatillon as if they hoped, even at the distance of more than a mile, to see some trace of what had occurred. They ignored cars which passed on the road— Buchmann’s, then others. Tad Long remained at the back of the pit, watching everything; he had been with Ellison for years and had taken on some thing of his quietness, but he was very different physically. He was tall, with thick black hair and features that were lean; something about them told that he was reliable and experienced and safe. He was a man to be trusted.

Evelyn saw him pass out Martin's black and white signal, then she felt Joe Naylor touch her arm. The stare of the mechanic's round, brown eyes met her own, and his voice came reassuringly.

‘Perhaps it isn’t so bad. Most likely he skidded, or something.’

‘No— it was more than that,’ Evelyn answered slowly; she had to make a little effort before she was able to speak. This brought her thoughts into words and her voice rose. ‘They ought to stop the others. There's something wrong with the cars— I know there is!’

Her last words were lost in the rush of a machine passing. It was Dan Martin’s. His mechanic was swinging the signal in slow arcs, and the driver's hand came up in a quick gesture of acknowledgment, then he had gone.

Tad Long called from where he stood. ‘Get the triangle ready for Number Twelve. Joe! Stand out front— and make sure he sees it!  I’ve got to tell him what to catch.’ Joe reached for Jerry's FASTER! signal and slipped it on to the counter.

‘What's in front of him?’ The question was repeated to the timekeeper, and the answer came. ‘Number Seven— the Rochelle. Then Number Fifteen— Alfa.’

From under the pit plank, Joe lifted a board.

Evelyn watched him chalk up the figure ‘7,’ then she turned in sudden resolution to the back of the pit.

‘I’m going down to Chatillon!’ she exclaimed.

‘Don't you, miss.’ Joe's grimy fist closed over her wrist. ‘You won't be able to do anything.’

‘But I want to know what happened! I want—’

She paused, looking past the mechanic and across the road. A change came over the crowd which packed the enclosure and the grandstand opposite. The people had been moving and stirring as they received rumours of the crash; new they silenced and loudspeakers began an announcement. It was made slowly, and It was short. It said that car Number Ten, an Ace, holding the lead in the race, had regrettably run off the road at Chatillon. Several spectators had been hurt, but none seriously.

‘What's that, miss?’ Joe asked.

When she had translated the words for him. his voice came quickly. ‘What about Bill Palmer? Didn't they say anything about him?’

Evelyn shook her head, just as Tad Long shouted that Jerry was due. She watched Joe climb to the front of the pit and lift the signal high: he held it with one hand, gripping the chalked board with the other. She leaned out watching Jerry's hand come up to his helmet, acknowledging the signal. The dust-hazed distance swallowed him up.

Evelyn stepped to the side of the pit. All the excitement which the race had held for her had gone now— and she knew that Bill Palmer was dead. That had been kept from the crowd; if the driver had been only injured, the officials would have said so. Bill Palmer had followed the road down which Perrugi and Tim Duggan had gone, and she remembered what Palmer had said before the race. It was almost as if some premonition had come to him, or was it that he knew he was risking his life? His car had killed him and Jerry was driving a machine which was a duplicate of the one that had crashed— like it in every nut and bolt, like it in defects. And Ellison had left orders for him to travel faster than before, to run greater risks.

The noise of passing machines slammed In her ears. Some were at the pits for refuelling, and Radezza had pulled in. The activity of the race was continuing— but all she wanted was to see Jerry out of it. and Mr Ellison had no right to risk his life further.

‘How long will Mr. Ellison be, Joe?’ she asked suddenly.

‘I don't know, miss— some time I reckon.’ He looked at her, then came nearer. ‘There's something funny ‘bout that smash.' he said, and his tone was explosive. ‘He'd driven through that corner twenty times and more before be went off the road.’ He paused. ‘Drove straight into it, Mister Jerry said, but it couldn’t have been his steering that went wrong. I mean he could have used his brakes to stop himself.’

He would have added something more, but Tad shouted that Martin was coming in. His mechanic jumped out to the front of the pit, lifting his arms as he faced the machine. It came up, brakes hissing dryly. The mechanic started work before Martin was out of the car, lurching stiffly to the pit counter, snatching at the filler funnel and a churn, while his mechanic slammed the jack udder the rear axle.

‘There's been a smash at Chatillon— who was it?’ The driver's voice was loud, and he swung to the car while he spoke, dropping the funnel home: petrol splashed in and he drained the churn before he turned back to the counter.

‘Who was it?’ he called again, staring at the men before him.

‘It was Mr. Palmer!’ Tad Long replied.

Martin hesitated, his expression startled, then he went on with his replenishment, every movement con trolled and practised.

‘Is he all right?’ he asked, as he returned the last churn. ‘We don't know yet,' Tad replied.  Martin snatched at the oil jug. He said no more, and he finished just before the mechanic dragged the jack clear of the rear axle.

The driver picked up a glass, filled with the champagne intended for Palmer, and, as he drank, the foreman leaned to wards him. 'Mr. Ellison's orders, sir— you've got to put your foot down! We'll show you what's ahead of you after the next lap. Radezza's leading now— Buchmann's behind him.'

Martin drained the glass. He had removed his goggles, and, as he set the glass down, he snatched at a clean pair, looking at Tad. Martin's face was a mask of dust which had settled over wind-blown oil; his skin was white where the goggles had rested, so that his eyes appeared very strained and staring.

‘I knew it was Bill,’ he said abruptly. ‘Guessed it!’

Then he ran back to the machine. The car left, racing away. The pit was tidied up. After that all waited for Ellison to return with news. People appeared on the path behind, seeking to learn what had occurred, but the mechanics knew no more than the enquirers.

Evelyn leaned silently against the pit counter with Joe, and, under orders from Tad, the mechanic kept the FASTER signal showing when Jerry next passed.

He went ahead of the Rochelle in three laps more, and, at the same time, Martin picked up a place. Radezza still led, but Buchmann was closing on him. Behind was the Alfa Romeo, with Martin trying to overtake it. Only one car lay between himself and Jerry, and this was the blue Alfa-Romeo from Gustave's team. If Jerry could pass it, the two Aces would be immediately behind one another.

The minutes drifted by. The crowd seemed to forget about the crash. Everything settled down again. Then Evelyn caught an exclamation from one of the mechanics.

‘Here's the guv’nor!’

Ellison appeared, his face set. He was alone, and he went immediately to the timekeeper's chart, studying it for a few moments before he straightened up. 'We're fourth and sixth, sir,' Tad Long said. 'Both coming up nicely.'

Ellison nodded and moved down the pit.

Every man was watching him, and the foreman spoke for them.

'How's Bill Palmer?'

Ellison answered without hesitation, his voice quiet and his expression un changed. 'He went at full bore into the corner. He didn't cut out, and he didn't use his brakes at all.' He moved on, pausing near Evelyn and Joe. 'He didn't have a chance,' he added.

Ellison was gazing straight in front of him now, his under lip pursed and his eyes narrowed. He turned, looking at Evelyn, and she felt impelled to speak.

'I— I was talking to Mr. Palmer only this morning,' she said, and her voice was shaking. Ellison did not answer.

The foreman came up behind him, his tone quiet.

'Excuse me, sir! Do you want me to call the other cars in?' When a machine crashes, and a man loses his life, it is in racing tradition to withdraw the rest of the team. In the little silence which followed, Ellison seemed only to be considering the form that his answer should take, as if his mind were already made up.

'We'll race on!' he said curtly.

'Very good, sir.' The foreman stepped away and Ellison suddenly found Evelyn facing him, her eyes blazing.

'You can't keep them running after what has happened!' she exclaimed. 'It isn’t right, and the same thing might—’

He cut her short, his voice steady and clear. ‘Palmer committed suicide,’ he said. Evelyn stepped back, catching her breath. He went on, deliberately and harshly. 'He made no attempt to stop. He went into the fence as fast as he could get his machine to move— and he didn't care what was in the way or who got hurt! I've too much at stake to withdraw my other cars as a tribute to a man who did that.’

He moved away again, returning to the timekeeper. Joe had heard what he said. 'I never thought o' that, miss!' he half whispered. ‘That's what must have happened. When Perrugi crashed. Bill Palmer said it was a good way to go out — quick, see?' The mechanic's round eyes were wide, and his voice came again, huskily. 'Them two were friends. I reckon it must have weighed on Bill Palmer's mind, and he sort of decided to do it. It's funny what you get to thinking: about in a race.' He paused, then spoke urgently. 'Mr. Ellison can't call the others in— not now, I mean. Mr. Martin stands a chance— and my car's coming up. It's about due again! '

He leaned out from tile pit, then called to her. 'Here's the blue Alfa— and there's Mr. Jerry after him!'

Evelyn saw the blue machine racing down the straight and Joe leaned over the counter, poising the blackboard which now bore '15,' the number of the Alfa-Romeo.

Jerry saw the board when he came up, its figures repeated on the tail of the car immediately ahead. He had been closing steadily down on the blue machine all the way from Chatillon. and now he pulled out and set himself to pass, judging that he would go by before they reached La Motte. He stamped the throttle pedal flat when he saw the village ahead, and the machine drew level.

Jerry glanced at the driver of the Alfa-Romeo; the wind was whipping at his sleeves, and the little windshield, obscured by dead flies and dust, was smeared where he had wiped it. He made an attempt to hold the Ace off as La Motte became clearly visible— the advertisement banners, fencing and spectators forming a mass of still colour. Jerry marked the sandbank outside the turn, calculating his speed, judging that he could go in front of the Alfa-Romeo and still have sufficient room to slow and take the turn. The cockpit of the other car slid behind him, and he saw that he was coming dangerously fast into the village. He had to use the full power of his brakes, changing down with swift, practised surety but arriving at the corner still fast enough for the tail of the machine to slide. It was kicked straight when he used the throttle, dust and stone clippings slashing back at the defeated car behind, which fell further away when Jerry went down to the S-bends at full bore.

The Ace gathered speed all along the road to Valencay, where the gendarmes were still on duty along the footpath, standing immobile as the car passed, house walls echoing its furious passage with a ringing roar. Jerry skimmed the front of the estaminet, and went on to the wood and the dip in its heart, lifting his revolution counter needle on to the red strip as he travelled to Chatillon.

The footbridge leaped up and went overhead, then he looked to the spot where Bill Palmer had crashed. There was a great break in the palisade, and behind it showed the sunny sky; no smoke trailed across it now, only the smashed woodwork and sand scattered on the road told what had happened there. Jerry took the comer very fast clipping across the heart of the turn holding his breath while he went through it. He had come to hate the corner, and took it as fast as he could trying to prove to himself that he was not afraid because of what had happened to Bill.

Down the straightaway he worked out that he must be lying fifth, because he had passed the Rochelle and the blue Alfa-Romeo. He hoped that Ellison would signal him to go after the next machine ahead, but when he saw the black line of pits he discovered that Joe was swinging the ‘OK’ signal. Jerry's glance went to the scoreboard, and he picked up the numbers on it: 19-8-11-2. Radezza, Buchmann, Martin, and the Italian-driven Alfa-Romeo were the only cars ahead of him, and the ‘OK’. signal must mean that Ellison wanted him to hold his speed for a few laps, to see what Martin was able to do. If he could get In front of Buchmann, then Jerry would probably be ordered to catch the red Alfa-Romeo.

He considered this as his wheels spun down the straight, where the road surface was lined by straight tyre-marks. As he raced on his thoughts constantly returned to the crash, and he tried to decide why it had occurred.

He considered the chances of a jammed throttle pedal, but that would not have prevented Bill using his brakes. Even if, by some extraordinary mishap, throttle and brake and clutch pedals had become jammed, he could still have switched off his engine and have done something to bring the car into the turn. But he had not attempted that. He had gone straight on, not deviating an inch from his course, only touching his brakes for an instant before the smash.

While he drove something was constantly working at the back of Jerry's mind, offering fresh theories, every one untenable and impossible. There was nothing to account for the crash, and it was no accident, as those of Perrugi and Tim Duggan might have been— although, perhaps, they were not accidents, either. It was as if some force, mysterious and secret, reached out to bring disaster on an Ace car when it took the lead in a race

Ellison was signalling Jerry on every lap now, Joe showing 'OK' each time Jerry guessed that the signal would remain the same until near the end of the race when he might be ordered to go faster and improve the position of his car.

Then, thundering through Valencay, holding the speed ne had been set, he saw something which made him crane up behind the wheel. A machine was halted in the open space at the crossroads, opposite the estaminet, and a moment later Jerry saw that it was green. Dan Martin had stopped; his bonnet was up-tilted and he turned from the car, recognising the sound of the approaching Ace. He raised both arms, bending his whole body in an urgent, swinging movement, as if to sweep on the passing machine— and Jerry knew what that meant. He remembered what Martin had said on the starting line: 'If you see either Bill or myself at the side of the road, that'll be a tip to you to put your foot down:'

He rammed the throttle pedal flat and gathering speed, reached to the little windshield, loosening the wing nuts and forcing the screen flat. He felt chill air rush to his face before he settled behind the wheel again using his brakes for the approach to the wood. He went through the bend, down the dip, bringing his revolution needle counter well across the red sector as he went towards Chatillon.

There were two machines ahead, and he overtook them— pulling wide on the road, his tyres stirring the dust— just before the footbridge. The Ace’s tail slid from side to side while he approached the turn, but the car was steady when he went through, looking towards his pit as soon as he came in sight of the stands. He saw a blue signal waving— the triangle— ‘FASTER!’ They could not yet know what had happened to Martin, but Martin was overdue, and that was reason enough for the signal.

Only Radezza, Buchmann and the red Alfa-Romeo lay in front now, and Jerry had reminded himself of this when he saw a machine ahead, moving very fast, visible only as a dark shape which remained mockingly before him all the way to La Motte. He felt sure that it must be the Alfa-Romeo, and he pursued it from the village, gaining something by his cornering, but losing sight of the machine altogether while he raced through Valencay.

Martin was still by his car, but with the bonnet closed now: once again he waved the Ace urgently on, and, this time Jerry lifted a hand in response. During the race to the wood, the dust-hazed shape was nearer, and the car was cornering when the Ace reached the footbridge at Chatillon. The sun caught the machine, showing that it was red. Jerry hoped that it was the Alfa- Romeo, and went flat out to the turn not slowing until the last possible moment, then he had to brake so hard to check the machine that he feared he would not get round.

He dropped to second gear only when he was almost in the turn, and those who watched saw the machine pitch viciously into the corner and accelerate away with a wild roar. Jerry’s gears screamed as he lifted his engine's speed almost to the peak of Its revolutions before he changed up and by the enclosures before the tribunes he gained ground with every turn or his wheels— because the other machine had slowed.

It was drawing over to its pit, and he recognised it for an Alfa-Romeo, then caught its number— ‘2’— as he passed, with no chance to glance at his own depot or to see why the Italian driver had stopped. All that mattered was that he had jumped to third place, with Radezza and Buchmann alone lying before him.

Jerry worked himself down in his seat, thrusting with his right foot making certain that the throttle pedal was flat. He did not know how many laps he had still to cover, but he did know that he had been saving his engine all through the race and that it should stand up to all-out speed now. But almost at once, he eased the pedal a little; possibly Radezza and the German were too far in front to be caught and in that case, it was better to make sure of third place and not press his machine too hard.

He dropped his revolutions just enough to hold that reserve of power which makes the difference between coaxing the most from a car and asking too much from it. His next lap was the fastest that he had yet made and he expected the ‘OK’ when he passed the pits again. Instead he saw the Ace depot as a forest of waving arms. Joe was at the front swinging the FASTER!  signal. Mechanics all along the counter were brandishing anything that came to their hands urging the car on.

Jerry's foot went down to the limit in response. Either Buchmann or Radezza had slowed or else Ellison wanted him to risk everything and try to win He held his machine straight for the vanishing point of the road in front seeing nothing of what lay on either side until his gaze focused on the turn at La Motte. He drifted toward the edge of the course holding his speed as long as he dared then arriving in a furious rush. He checked skids just before the turn then put the car through the corner with the engine booming and supercharger shrilling.

He went on between the pine trees and up to Valencay, not sparing a glance for Martin’s car as he took the estaminet corner.  He passed a machine near the bend in the woods, then sighted another along the straight as he came out of the dip. This machine was dark from something other than dust haze and shadow.  It was a black machine— Radezza's.

Then Jerry knew why the pit-crew had urged him on. Buchmann had taken the lead because the Italian had slowed— although he had slowed only a little. He was still in front when Jerry had left Chatillon behind— still in front down the straight— still in front when they came to the grandstands, but now only by fifty yards.

Jerry set his car to pass and heard the Maserati’s deep booming as he came up to it. Radezza caught his reflection in the driving mirror, and glanced over his shoulder; after that, Jerry did not gain further on him. The black car kept him twenty yards in rear all down the long straight, and it was as they approached La Motte that Jerry discovered why he had been able to overtake Radezza. His brakes were giving out, and he had to use them early on the approach to the turns, bringing them into action long before Jerry had need to do so. When the Maserati slowed now the Ace leaped at the black machine —drawing level— passing. The Italian dropped behind, and Jerry slipped his foot to his brake pedal, steadying the Ace before he reached for the gear lever.

In this moment he reminded himself that he held second place, and only Buchmann was ahead; if he could catch him, he would be to the lead.

The car slowed under the checking brakes, and the engine roared as he changed down. The harsh whine of brake-shoes sounded again, then he was turning into the corner, and, as he turned, he saw the black shape of the Maserati, skidding. The pace he himself had set had brought Radezza too fast into the turn, and he was sliding at the Ace, his steering locked over in an effort to keep his machine clear.

It seemed that the cars must hit. The shrilling of the Maserati's skidding tyres came thinly above the roar of the green car, as, instinctively, Jerry wrenched on the wheel, pulling away. They all but touched, then the black car fell behind, and Jerry found himself charging at the end of the sand bank outside the turn.

He released the throttle and brought his steering over in a desperate effort to pull the car clear. He thought he had managed it, then the machine lurched as one rear wheel hit the bank. The tail jarred outwards, and the Ace lurched again before he straightened and, holding it steady, looked over the side of the cockpit.

He saw Radezza still skidding, now in the mouth of the escape road, and half screened by flying sand from the bank. It seemed to be spurting after the Ace, and Jerry, slowing, heard metal clattering, then saw the rear wheel buckled, its tyre burst. He let the car roll to the roadside beyond the corner, then stopped.

Faces stared at him over a fence as he climbed out, running to the rear of the machine. The distorted shape of the wheel was at an angle, and he dropped on to hands and knees, gazing past the torn rubber of the deflated tyre. The impact with the bank had set back the rear axle; no repair was possible, and he was out of the race.

Radezza got under way again, and the Italian approached, leaning from his cockpit. He gestured with one hand, calling an apology that was lost in the noise of his car. He went on, looking back, his goggled lace expressive of regret, then his exhaust note deepened and he vanished down the shadowed road. Jerry beard people calling to him over the fence.

Two officials ran up, shouting that he could not leave the car there. He did not answer them, but climbed back and sent the machine lamely on. It clattered down the road, running slowly, close to the side. He almost stopped before the S-bends in order not to baulk a car which came from behind, then he drove on up the road to Valencay. When he went through the village people at the windows began to clap as he passed, calling to him, commiserating with him. Then, on the run down to Chatillon, he discovered that he was not alone in misfortune; a white car was drawn half off the road, and a figure was bending under the bonnet. It was Buchmann, working frenziedly, and Jerry knew that Radezza must have taken the lead again.

All the way into the village he watched for Buchmann to appear behind, but he did not, and when Jerry rolled down the straight towards the pits he knew that Radezza would never be caught now; that he must win. The Ace might have secured victory but for that skid on the corner, yet Jerry knew that if he had not pulled clear of the sliding Maserati, the cars would have hit one another, then both would have been out of the race. What had occurred was bad luck: no-one could be blamed.

Slowly, the lamed machine rolled down the straight towards the pits. Men looked out from every depot and Jerry knew that they had missed him when he failed to come round. He saw Joe jump across the counter, and when he stopped, the mechanic darted at the smashed wheel, peering about It, then sliding on his back half under the car. He reappeared as Jerry switched off, and dropped to the ground.

‘Can't do anything with it, sir!’ Joe called to Ellison.

Ellison was leaning over the plank, looking at Joe, his lips compressed and his dark eyes narrowed. ‘I skidded into the bank at La Motte,’ Jerry said. ‘Radezza nearly hit me. I was trying to avoid him.’ He came closer. ‘I'm very sorry.’

‘You'd have won.’ Ellison answered. ‘Buchmann hasn't come round.’ He straightened up, pushing with his hands on the edge of the rough planking. ‘I don't suppose it was your fault,’ he added. ‘And Martin is out— broken camshaft drive.’ The mechanics had drawn away, clustering at the end of the pit near the machine, whispering to one another. Joe had returned to the bent wheel, and Evelyn stood with both relief and regret showing on her face.

Jerry dragged off his goggles, glancing at Ellison. ‘I'm sorry we let you down,’ he said. ‘I'd passed the Maserati. It's bad luck.’

‘Bad luck?’ Ellison's under lip jutted as he spoke abruptly. ‘Two cars out and one smashed— that's more than bad luck!’ He bent forward, his level glance meeting Jerry's. ‘'Gipsy' Perrugi said something to me before he died—and by God, I believe there's something in it’ He paused. Suddenly, he laughed— grimly, like a man accepting a challenge.

‘He cursed me— and he cursed my cars!’

Ellison turned, then, and walked away.

4. Wreckage

THE setting sun cast long shadows at Chatillon corner and, striking through the smashed palisade, made a great patch of warm light on the tyre streaked road, framing it with broken bars of black shadow thrown from shattered woodwork. Men were taking down the advertisement banners which had draped the house fronts nearby, the fabric facing in great collared folds about their shoulders. Gendarmes were on duty at the bend, where a jostling crowd trampled the sandbank and peered through the break in the palisade, staring past the footpath beyond, trying to see the wrecked car.

The Grand Prix d'Auvergne was over and the spectators had gone, leaving their legacy of litter and trampled grass at the roadside. Here and there about the course, mechanics were bringing home machines which had fallen out of the race, and the attention of the people at Chatillon was caught by the lorry that rolled up bearing Gustave's blue Bugatti. It had been retrieved from the ditch, and its broken bodywork clattered as the lorry ran through the corner and took the road to Auvergne.

When it had gone, the crowd at the palisade turned again, whispering and peering through the gap. In the main, they were villagers of Chatillon. whose lives had been temporarily disrupted by the race. To them the crash came as sharp tragedy, resolved into simple, human feeling for the foreigner who had died on their soil. Here and there about the corner were little groups, each centred around someone who, over and over again, gave details of the crash.

They found much to talk about, because spectators had been hurt when the car went through the palisade and across the footpath behind it. There was a rumour that crowds waited for news outside the hospital in Auvergne, to which the injured people had been taken.

The sound of the lorry had faded when attention turned to a car which had stopped a little way clear of the corner. Jerry slipped from behind the wheel, and Dan Martin alighted after him; they walked quietly forward, and a change came over the standing groups. They fell silent. A Frenchman dragged off his peaked cap, in a gesture of condolence and respect for the team-mate the two drivers had lost. Others did the same so that drawing near the palisade, as people made way for them— Jerry and Dan found themselves walking between villagers who regarded them with a sad and wondering interest.

They had come so that, by their presence they might pay some small tribute to Bill Palmer, and both wanted to see the car in the hope of finding an indication of the true cause of the crash. They were tired, stiff from the bruising which the race had inflicted, and they walked slowly. They had changed from their racing kit, and this seemed to lend a measure of formality to their appearance.

An orchard lay beyond the footpath: It was edged by a wooden fence, and part of this had been torn down opposite the break in the palisade: the gap was roped across, guarded by two gendarmes. Jerry saw that the car had leaped this fence, which must have been wrecked by people running in after the crash: this was evident because, some little distance away, a tree had been hit high up. The branches were gone, and only the tall stump was left, the white wood of its frayed tip tinted faintly red by the sun.

The machine had been in mid-air when it struck the tree, and, as it leaped beyond, it had caught another, cutting it off short. The Ace had dropped to the ground then, and its further course was marked by a great swathe of ploughed earth and torn grass, and by three more trees which had been knocked down, thrust brokenly outwards. It was easy to see how the tremendous speed of the machine bad kept it straight until, its impetus almost expended, it had swerved sharply towards a building at the far end of the orchard, where men were visible, with the dark shape of the machine beyond them.

The gendarmes lifted the ropes, and the quiet crowd watched as Jerry and Dan went forward. Beyond the stump of the second tree lay the crumpled shape of the engine cover; it had been wrenched off and now it shone from amongst long grass. Further on, half hidden by alien branches, was the bent shape of the front axle, one wheel buckled and twisted. Piled near was debris which, evidently, had been gathered up and placed there.

‘He must have lost his front axle when he hit that tree low down,’

Dan murmured. They continued over ground that was deeply scored, every scar telling of the relentless force with which the machine had been flung on to destruction. The marks were drawn in swerving lines which gradually faded where the broad path swerved, and from here Jerry saw men had gathered about the car. There were gendarmes, officials still wearing brassards, and a bearded Frenchman who appeared to have considerable authority.

In the last dozen yards, the car had dashed beyond the trees, stopping at the edge of a little plot forming a vegetable garden, set by the house wall. Jerry saw the car's racing number, dusty against the dented scuttle and in that moment, he seemed to catch the tones of Bill Palmer's voice, remembering him as he had been be fore the race. He had an odd feeling that, at any moment, Palmer would join them— his pale face unsmiling, his light eyes cold beneath their jet and frowning brows.

With this in his mind, Jerry came to the car. The tail had struck the house wall, and great cracks in the pale yellow plaster staggered towards the eaves The machine was tilted half on one side, the engine smothered with earth that had been soaked to blackness by leaking oil. The cockpit was smashed, and the steering wheel was bent almost flat, showing that the car had at one time slithered upside down. The whole broken shape was smothered with dust and earth, and fragments of grass.

When Jerry and Dan bent at the front of the car, one of the Frenchmen came to them, eager to explain that he had been an eye witness of the smash. Jerry did not understand what he said, because his knowledge of French was very limited, but the man gestured expressively, and it was his quick movements which made his meaning clear. With one finger, and with the edge of his other hand, he showed how the car struck the first tree, dropping afterwards. His palms, held together, imitated the wild lurching of the car as it swung from side to side before rolling over and grinding to a stop. Jerry watched him, fascinated by his graphic gestures, until the bearded Frenchman called him away.

‘I doubt if it's possible to discover very much,’ Dan said slowly. ‘Bill simply drove through the fence— and that's all his car will tell us!’ He stood back, frowning. ‘Ellison's bringing a lorry to move the machine, then they'll look it over,' he added. 'Here's the lorry now.'

There was a sudden movement amongst the crowd which had gathered in the lane on to which the house faced. Two gendarmes and Tad Long appeared, forcing their way to a gate in the fence. The Ace foreman dragged it open as a breakdown lorry backed up, with the head of a crane projecting above its tailboard. It came through the gate, followed by a broad, low-built truck which half a dozen men were pushing.

The coming of the lorry roused everyone to movement, and as Ellison came into view behind the truck, the bearded Frenchman ran to him, talking quickly. Ellison did not understand what he said, and he turned when Evelyn hurried in from the lane, running up at his call, translating the man's words to the Ace designer. She had been at Chatillon ever since the race ended, helping Ellison; he knew little French, while she spoke the language well.

Jerry stood watching. Men on the lorry began to throw out planks which would form a runway for the truck after the wreck had been loaded on to it. Voices sounded loudly above the hollow thudding of planks and the noisy roar of the lorry then, abruptly, the moving vehicle stopped and there came sudden quietness, as if every one saw, in the same moment, a man who was walking down the long orchard.

It was Radezza. The strain of the race that he had won still lingered on his face, so that his eyes were wide in there bony hollows and his cheeks appeared more than ever sunken. He was carrying the circlet of laurel leaves and red roses which he had been given after the finishing flag had fallen: at his heels came the other two drivers in his team, and a group of half a dozen Italians followed them.

When he was a little way from the wreckage of the Ace, Radezza removed his beret and his companions stopped. He came on alone, so that he stood quite by himself as he paused at the front of the car and placed the circlet over the distorted radiator. He remained there for a moment, then he crossed himself, his lips moving. When he turned away, he saw Jerry and stepped towards him, speaking in Italian.

Jerry thought the driver was offering his condolences, but Evelyn, approaching with Ellison, caught his words and explained them.

‘I don't know much Italian, but I think he is saying how sorry he is about Bill Palmer, and about the skid.’

‘The skid at La Motte?’ Jerry asked. ‘La Motte— si!’ and Radezza nodded quickly, then addressed Evelyn. ‘That's it. Jerry.’ she said. ‘He is very sorry— dolorsi, he says. He thinks you would have won if his skid had not forced you off the road.’

‘Tell him it was not his fault— it was just bad luck!’ Jerry replied.

Radezza, appeared to understand, and offered his hand: he had a warm, firm grip. He shook hands with Ellison and with Dan before he rejoined his companions and went back the way he had come, leaving the roses showing dull-red against the broken metal of the car.

The truck rolled into place beside the wreck, and the lorry backed nearer while men started to rig the crane and its tackle, Ellison supervising the work.

Evelyn drew Jerry away, speaking as they moved clear of the mechanics.

‘They’re going to take the car to a little garage down the lane,’ she said. ‘I think there's to be an official inspection immediately.’ She looked at him. ‘Have you had anything to eat since the race?’

‘No, I didn't feel like it. Dan and I wanted to see what had happened here.’

Jerry studied her face as they walked on to the trees. She was a little pale and she clung to his arm, as if she were glad that he was there.

‘You'd better let me take you Into Auvergne,’ he suggested. ‘You've done enough here. You're worn out.’

They stopped clear of the officials and the working men. Chains were being run under the broken car as the mechanics called directions to one an other, their voices low-toned; no one else spoke at much above a whisper, so that the rattle of chain tackle and the clash of metal sounded stridently.

‘Ellison needed someone with him who could speak French,' Evelyn said presently. 'And you can have no idea how much this has shaken him.’

But when Jerry looked at him, Ellison appeared just as he always was, his heavy face dour, his attitude watchful.

‘It's his eyes,’ he heard Evelyn say. ‘Someone sent flowers for Bill Palmer, and Mr. Ellison took them to him— When he came back he seemed no different until I saw his eyes, and then it was just as if he were splitting in side.’

Jerry felt her fingers close about his own.

‘I liked him for that,’ she said. ‘Yet when he spoke to me his voice was just like it always is, and that almost made me break down. I could tell the effort he was making not to show what he felt, and the worst of it is that, right down inside him, he knows that Bill didn't crash deliberately. Something is happening to Ellison and his cars, and he can't make out what it is— but I believe hell keep on until he does find out.’

‘He's like that.’

The wreckage was swung off the ground, broken metal falling from it, men bending low as they peered at the under-carriage until the machine was lowered to the truck. Debris was collected, then the lorry was driven out of the lane, and the truck was manhandled away along the planks.

‘If they're going to examine the machine now. I think I'll watch,' Jerry said. 'It will be a load off my mind if they find out the cause of the crash.’

He went on slowly, ‘It'll be the very devil if we have to drive again with out knowing why Bill went off the road.’

‘You will drive again for Ellison?’ Evelyn asked, and she kept her glance rigidly ahead. ‘Even after what's happened today?’

Jerry did not reply, and they followed the truck, moving past the curious crowd and down the lane to a little garage, where three old cars had been pushed out to the road, in order that floor space might be given to the machine. The place became crowded as the doors were partly closed, while lights were switched on and gendarmes stationed themselves outside. The work of dismantling the car went forward at once.

Jerry understood that there was to be an enquiry on the following afternoon, and it was necessary that evidence should be se cured concerning the machine itself. Tad Long had two mechanics to assist him, and Dan Martin joined in the work. Soon the floor was scattered with earth and dust and wilting grass. The bodywork had been cleared when Tad beckoned to Ellison.

‘Have a look here, sir.’ he said ‘The throttle's stuck wide open!'

‘That's due to this bent rod,’ Ellison answered, pointing as he leaned above the engine. ‘It must have been done in the smash.’

The bearded Frenchman examined it, and began to talk explosively, giving Evelyn hardly time to translate what he said. He argued that the rod might have been bent before the crash, perhaps by a flying stone: in that case, Palmer would have been taken by surprise as he came to the corner, unable to close the throttle, with no time to think of switching off his engine. That would, he said, account for the car entering the turn at the limit of its speed.

What he suggested was impossible, but the discovery was the only one which offered even a remote excuse for the accident. The man seemed relieved, glad that some reason had been found. He talked to his companions while the work went on, and, when nothing more was learned it became obvious that the stuck throttle would be made the official, if unlikely cause of the crash. It was dark by the time that the examination was concluded, and Jerry was glad to step out into the clear cool air.

His hand slipped under Evelyn's arm.

‘I’ll run you back to Auvergne,' he said. ‘I left the car near the corner.’

'And we'll have dinner,' she agreed, then exclaimed quickly: ‘Here’s Dr Relf.’

The little, grey-haired man was walking towards them, and as he came into the light from the garage they saw that his face was drawn, very tired and strained, and his footsteps dragged.

‘Ah, it's pleasant to find you here,’ he said as they met. ‘I hoped I should catch Ellison. I’ve been at the hospital all the time, and I wanted to let him know that everything is all right. No one was hurt really seriously,’ he went on, ‘but I felt that I ought to remain there, representing Ellison.’

Evelyn stepped to his side, while Jerry relieved him of his portmanteau, then asked something that had long been in his mind.

'How about— Bill?'

‘Oh, yes— Bill Palmer.’ Relf murmured, as if he had forgotten. ‘It was absolutely instantaneous, I give you my word for that. It happened in just the way he would have wished. One moment he was driving flat out, and then — finish.’ He snapped finger and thumb. ‘Like that! He was a nice chap in his way, too.’ He drew a deep breath, and his eyes lightened as he sighted Dan Martin coming to him.

‘Tired?’ Dan asked, and his big arm went about the little doctor's shoulders just as Ellison appeared from the garage. He called to Jerry and Evelyn, drawing them aside.

‘Jerry, you'll be wanted for the enquiry tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. 'Relf will interpret for me— he spends most of his time over here, and he talks like a native, so I shan't have to trouble you again, Miss Fraser, but I want to thank you.’

He stood with his back to the light, so that it was impossible to see his face. He was silhouetted against the wreckage of the car that he had built, and the shadow which shrouded his features seemed to typify the mystery that had brought his machines to disaster. 'You've helped me through a very bad time,' he went on, and reached out to take her hand. 'I want you to know that I do appreciate it.' He remained looking at her for a moment, then turned away, and it was when the light caught his face that Jerry saw him with an understanding that had never been given him before. It was life and adversity which had hardened Ellison's features, so that they became a mask for his real humanity.

Just now, he was a man facing ill-fortune and broken hopes. Of the cars that he had sent to the line, one had killed a man, one had broken down and the other had fallen out, lamed: this had followed two other races in which he had achieved no success— only tragedy and defeat.

Jerry was thinking of this as he walked back to Chatillon corner with Evelyn. A friendly gendarme was keeping watch over the car, and he had switched on the lights. The man saluted, and refused the ten-franc note which Jerry offered him, then suddenly changed his mind and took it.

‘Eh bien, m'sieu'—pour les fleurs!’ he said.

‘What did he mean?’ Jerry asked, driving away.

‘He'll use the note to buy flowers for Bill,’ she said. They were silent as the car ran down towards Auvergne, and it was only when the machine began to climb the sloping road that ran to the heart of the town that Evelyn spoke again.

‘It was decent of the gendarme to think of flowers,’ she said. ‘Jerry, everybody's been very decent about it all. anyway. Tomorrow, they'll agree that, it was because the car's throttle stuck open that Bill went off the road —they've made up their minds about that, although they all believe that it was suicide. I heard them talking of it, only they don't want Bill Palmer to have that stigma.’

‘Ellison says it was suicide, too’ Jerry said.

‘And all the time he knows it isn't!’ she replied. ‘Not suicide— not a stuck throttle— nothing wrong with the car— nothing wrong with Bill Palmer! It's something else. Jerry —something that frightens me when I think about it.’

He felt her fingers catch at his arm, tense and tight. ‘I wonder what Ellison meant about a curse?'

‘There can't be anything in that,’ he answered, then, after a moment. ‘It's queer, though, especially when you remember that Bill was in the lead— and so were the others.’

‘And I'll tell you something that's even stranger.’ Evelyn said. ‘I was at San Sebastian when Perrugi crashed on the Lasarte circuit, and it occurred on his twentieth lap. The course is just under eleven miles round, so he'd covered about two hundred and fifteen miles when he went off the road.’

She was speaking slowly and very clearly, and she went on again. ‘My father was on the Italian course when Tim Duggan hit the bridge and he told me that it was on his thirtieth lap. That circuit was exactly seven miles round—so Duggan had done about two hundred and ten miles.’

Jerry glanced at her again, and slowed the car when he realised what she meant.

‘Both of them had covered about the same distance, is that it?’ he asked.

‘Yes—and, Jerry, poor Bill was just finishing his twenty-sixth lap when he crashed at Chatillon.’

‘Twenty-six laps—eight mile course,’ Jerry murmured. ‘Then he'd done two hundred and ten miles, near enough.’

‘The same distance as both the others.’ Evelyn added. ‘Isn't that odd?’

Jerry was thoughtful as he drove on, and the car ran some distance before he spoke again.

‘I don't know that it is odd,’ he commented. ‘D'you remember what Bill said before the start. He told us that he was good for a couple of hundred miles, and then he'd begin to grow tired. That may have had something to do with it.’

The car was running into the evening traffic of the town now, and he spoke again as he drove towards the hotel where Evelyn was staying with her father.

‘It's probably just as much a coincidence as the fact that all three cars held the lead,’ he said. ‘But I'll mention it to Dan, and see what he thinks.’

They threaded the paved roads of the hillside town, and night lent romance to the old buildings which lined the way, while in front and poised overhead reared the battlements of the thick-walled castle which had first called the town into existence. The car swung into the main square, and Jerry turned it to a rank of parked machines, speaking again as they climbed out.

‘It's when you've done a couple of hundred miles in a long race that you begin to grow tired, in a way,’ he said. ‘You wonder how much longer it will last. It's a queer reeling, and it goes off after a while.’

They began to walk across the square.

‘If you're in front, you think you won't be able to stick the pace, and if you're behind you imagine that nothing will bring you up with the leaders. It's a dangerous sort of mood, because you’re liable to get a little reckless.’

He looked at Evelyn, and the lights from the hotel front showed that she was watching him, listening closely.

‘Those three must have reached that stage when they piled up, and it may have had something to do with the crashes,' he added. ‘Quite a lot to do with it, perhaps, especially in Bill's case.’

Evelyn nodded, but she made no remark, and soon the heavy doors at the top of the hotel steps were swinging to admit them. They dined in a big. ornate room, and here they were joined by Evelyn's father. He was a neat, trim, business-like man, whose manner was always blunt and direct. He had been associated with motor cars since the very early days, and had helped to found the tyre manufacturing firm which he represented. His work now concerned only the supply of tyres to racing men, and he was said to know as much as anyone about high-speed work on Continental circuits. He usually spent his winters in the research department, helping to find solutions to problems presented by the previous season's racing.

‘I was a very frightened man when I heard about the smash,’ he told Jerry, as he settled down. ‘Someone informed me that it was you who had gone off the road! I didn't see you pass until a lap later, and I had a very unpleasant five minutes, I assure you. I was down at La Motte, watched the race from there.’

He broke the tip off a long French loaf and crushed it noisily.

‘I've been almost as nervous as Evelyn since you joined Ellison,’ he added. ‘There seems to be no accountable reason for these crashes, and that makes this last one all the more extraordinary.’

‘Bill just had bad luck.’ Jerry said.

‘Bad luck, eh?’ Mr. Fraser repeated. ‘Three smashes in three races is some thing else, if you want my opinion! However, we don't need to talk about it—except this: I'd like to hear you say that you won't drive in the Ace team again’.

Jerry looked at him. but Mr. Fraser was busy with his soup. He glanced at Evelyn, but she kept her eyes averted.

‘I shouldn't like to quit and let Ellison down—if he decides to race on,’ he said. ‘I like him, and he must be up against it rather badly. If he asks me to drive, next time the cars run—I'll drive!’

Mr. Fraser grunted. Evelyn sat quite motionless. There was a little silence, then her father spoke ‘You're a young fool, but that's what I expected.’ he muttered. ‘I like you for it, but it won't make Evelyn happy.’

Jerry felt her hand searching for his own. With that touch she committed herself to the woman's part of waiting and hoping and praying for some man who risks his life. They talked no more of the race or of the cars, and after dinner Jerry and Evelyn climbed steep paths to a park under the castle walls.

The still lights of the town were blurred by those of moving vehicles and. where roads mounted the hill, headlamp beams stabbed into the sky, or wavered to silver some house wall. Highways, threading the darkness beyond the town, were traced by moving slivers of light, winked to extinction as they passed woods and clustered trees, appearing again and sliding steadily on until they were lost in the distance. The whole world was veiled by the night, peaceful and quiet. Only the murmur of the town came up to them and this, with the moving flecks of light on the road, alone warned Jerry that, in a little while he must go down the hill again, returning to race-worn machines, tired men and the mystery which had brought Bill Palmer to the end of all things.

For an hour they remained there, Evelyn drowsy and all but sleeping, her head resting on Jerry's shoulder, then they descended the slope to the town.

‘I'll come over to see you tomorrow.’ she said, when they parted. ‘I'll come in the evening, and you can tell me what's been happening. Next day, we have to go to Palermo, for the Targa Florio. I'm clad you're not in that race—it's a dangerous circuit,’ and she shivered a little.

Driving away, Jerry thought of the quiet hour they had spent on the hill, and this remained in his mind until he reached the corner at Chatillon. It was late now, and there were no vehicles, no staring people, no gendarmes—nothing except the great gap yawning in the palisade, like an opening in a dark wall. Jerry was alone as he sent the car slowly past— alone for the first time since the race had finished. Now he understood quite suddenly, and in a way he had not known before, that Bill Palmer was dead. Beyond this ragged hole in the wall was the place where he had died, and there came to Jerry an appreciation of the fact that no one cared very greatly.

Tomorrow, the Frenchmen would be anxious to hold their enquete and settle an unfortunate affair; already the newspapers had had their sensation and would turn to something else; the crowds would forget, and Bill's place in the Ace camp would be taken by someone else. In a little while, only the effect of the crash upon the reputation of Ellison's cars would remain, and Bill would be just a memory—growing dim and almost lost before the season ended.

Jerry thought how little a man's life mattered, except to those who were very near him: it was only the shock of a sudden passing which made people sympathetic for a while— for half a day it might be, and then they did not care any more.

He drove down the straight, to the tribunes, where the replenishment depots were hazily black, echoing the sound of his machine. The grandstand was like a great hollow shadow by the roadside, and the flags against its roof were revealed drooping, damp from dew, as the edge of the headlights caught them. Everything seemed empty and finished.

Jerry turned the car when he was beyond the stands, following the road back to the village. The yard gates by the estaminet stood wide, and he ran the car in. No one was about. There was a light in a loft, where the mechanics slept, and another shone from a window in the estaminet, marking the room which he shared with Dan Martin.

He left the car and entered the building, stumbling up dark stairs. There were two truckle beds in the room, and heaped on his own was the racing kit that he had discarded. Dan was asprawl in the bed at the other side, his hands clasped behind his head, while on the floor lay two newspapers and a race programme. He was sucking an empty pipe, and he spoke past the stem.

'What's the best news?' he asked, but his tone was quiet.

'There isn't any.' Jerry replied. 'Is everything OK here?'

'I put Relf to bed, and we had a bit of trouble with Bill's mechanic.' Dan removed his pipe and peered into the cold bowl before he went on. 'It seems that Bill had been pretty decent to him. one way and another, and the chap broke down.'

Jerry slipped out of his coat, then made his bed ready. Dan kept continually drawing at the pipe, as if he were smoking: he was scowling at the wall, his heavily-lidded eyes half closed, all normal humour gone from his face.

'Nothing fresh cropped, about the smash?' Jerry asked. Dan shook his head. Jerry told him, then, what. Evelyn had discovered concerning the relative time at which each of the three crashes had occurred.

'There's nothing in it.' Dan said. 'As a matter of fact, I've figured that out for myself. At. first, I thought I'd hit on something, but it's just a coincidence. You can find coincidences in anything if you look long enough. Perrugi and Tim and Bill all had red pit signals, for instance;' He turned his head, watching as Jerry slipped into pyjamas. 'The whole thing is very simple, when you get right down to it,' he went on. 'Something put three of our machines off the road, and all we want to know is — why?'' He laughed softly. 'I've thought about it until I've scared myself. Let's forget it!'

They talked for a while, about the race and what each had seen, commenting on other drivers and other cars, then Jerry turned out the light but he found that he could not sleep. A long time passed, while he listened to late-running cars on the road outside: he could hear them long before they passed the estaminet. Their lights, striking through the window panes, made shadows slide across the opposite wall, vanishing when the headlamp beams had gone by. One or two camions rattled through the village, making the building shake. There were long periods of deep quiet between the passage of each vehicle.

Jerry thought that Dan was asleep until his voice came, clear and wakeful, but pitched very low. 'Are you awake?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'I don't think that Bill committed suicide.' Dan spoke slowly out of the dark. 'And I don't think there's any thing wrong with the cars.' He paused for what seemed a long time. 'It's something else,' he said. There was another silence. 'I'll be leading the team next time we race,' he whispered. 'A pretty lively thought, that.’

In the uneasy quiet that followed Jerry drifted to sleep.

When he roused in the morning, Dan had gone. He was down in the barn, where the mechanics were working In a desultory way, packing up in readiness for departure. They had received no orders, and they knew that nothing active could be done until the enquiry was over, and this was to take place in the afternoon. Ellison was absent in Auvergne, and Relf was at the hospital.

Jerry did not see either of them until he drove to Chatillon with Dan, finding a crowd gathered outside the little hall where the enquiry was to be held. It proved to be no more than a formality; verbal evidence was supported by photographs, and there was an obvious general desire to cause as little distress as possible. In the end, Evelyn's forecast proved correct; the crash was attributed to the jammed throttle and the whole thing was rated as an accident. Regrettable and unfortunate, but still an accident— that was the official verdict, but the true inquest began an hour later, back at the Ace camp, when Ellison called Relf and Dan and Jerry into the little room which opened off the yard.

The room was much the same as it had been before the race, with its litter of newspapers and odd tools, its battered furniture and rickety table. Jerry dropped on to the old settee feeling the harsh springs through its worn fabric: Dan took a chair, and Dr. Relf shook the bottles of 'tonic' water that stood in a comer. He found them all empty, and remained leaning against the wall.

'I've made up my mind what I'm going to do.' Ellison said suddenly and without any preliminary. 'But I want to talk things over. I've asked you in here. Relf, because I value your opinion. You two' — and he nodded to Jerry and Dan — 'because you’ve got to make a decision, and it's right that you should know how things stand.'

His voice was harsh, and he hitched a chair towards him, then sat down folding his arms across the back. The furrow between his eyebrows went up to meet lines deeply graven across his forehead, fading where his temples swelled. He glanced at the three in turn before he went on.

'What happened yesterday was a nasty blow to the reputation of my machines, and those people being hurt only makes it worse. No one was seriously injured, but it has been enough to attract a lot of a attention to us— especially after the other smashes.'' He drew a long breath then went on: 'As you know, I'd planned a full racing programme for the season. I've team entries standing for the Grand Prix d'Europe, and for the French Grand Prix — and in spite of everything I'm going to run in both those events!'

Dan took his pipe from his mouth and his aggressive chin came out a little.

'And you want to know whether Jerry and I will drive for you?' he asked.

'Yes, but whether you do or not my cars will race,' Ellison answered deliberately. ‘I'm not going to be beaten, and it's vital that I should race again.'

He jerked to his feet, and kicked the chair away, facing the two drivers and raising his voice almost to a shout. It was as if he were defending himself and the cars that he had built.

‘I tell you, there's nothing wrong with the machines— nothing! And I'm going to prove it before I'm through. If I'm just having a run of bad luck I'll go on until it changes.’ He was momentarily shaken out of his normal calm, and as he stood recovering himself. Jerry's thoughts flashed to the races of which he had spoken. The Grand Prix d'Europe was, he knew, being revived on the Sarthe circuit at Le Mans, which rivalled for speed the course at Reims, over which the French Grand Prix was to be run. Both events would be far harder than the race at Auvergne.

‘I've considered every detail connected with each of the three crashes,’ Ellison went on more quietly. ‘In no case did I learn anything from examining the wrecks, and nowhere have I been able to find even the shadow of a reason for the cars going out of control— as they must have done. And that, I'll admit, is what makes me wonder if there can possibly be any thing in what Perrugi said at Lasarte.’

‘You told me that he'd cursed you— and the cars,’ Jerry broke in quietly.

‘That's what I mean.’ Ellison replied. ‘I knew that he was dying, you see, and I know he hated me in that moment— he blamed me for it all. He was a gipsy, all right.’ he added gently. ‘He must have learned some Romany when he was a child, and that's the language he used right at the end— and he was cursing me with his last breath.’

He turned to the doctor. 'I mentioned it, to you, Relf.' He smiled uncertainly. 'I've no belief in such things, but sometimes— I wonder.'

'I wouldn't be too ready to decry the efficacy of a curse.' Relf said slowly, and his tone was serious. 'I've seen, and I've heard, some peculiar things — one does, in my profession.'

Dan drew on his pipe, watching Ellison and Relf through half-closed eyes, his expression questioning. Jerry sat wondering if this would produce some thing new, some fresh angle to the mystery.

'l used to talk to Perrugi now and again.' Relf went on. 'His grand father was a true-born gipsy, and his own father ran booths on fair grounds. Perrugi's mother was a fortune teller— not a gipsy, but someone who was more than a little psychic, so you can see that he had unusual blood.'

Ellison was listening intently, resting his hands against the back of the chair.

'She insisted on a proper education for Perrugi.' the doctor said, 'and real work instead of hanging about the fairs. I think his natural daring brought him to driving racing cars — eventually, you know. But I never got the truth of his career.' He paused a moment. 'Ellison, some people have strange powers — people like Perrugi. We've all heard about curses and their effects, and it is possible that you are up against something that no one can understand.'

'If I am, I'll fight it,' Ellison answered slowly. 'I've done no harm to any man. and I've worked hard to get. where I am now. I've started to build up a racing reputation— I was more or less forced into racing to combat the competition of the Rochelles. And, as I said, I'm going through with it.'

'I think you're unwise,' Relf murmured.

Again there was silence. Dan spoke from the corner of his mouth, his teeth still gripping his pipe. 'You can't tell me that it's because Perrugi said something at Lasarte that Tim went off the road in Italy, and Bill Palmer drove through a fence here!'

'I've just said that it's something no one can understand.' Relf replied. 'If I were faced with such a situation as this. I should abandon my programme for the rest of the season.'

'You would, eh?' Ellison murmured.

'Yes. and give the curse time to work itself out, as it were.'

'And then — what?' Ellison asked. 'It would be like admitting that my cars are dangerous. There'd be rumours that I had withdrawn the machines or, still worse, it would be said that Aces had been barred!' His voice rose again. 'No, Relf, I'm going to race on. and all I want to know at this moment is— where I stand with my drivers.'

He turned to them and spoke bluntly. 'Will you two drive again for me?'

'I'm with you,' Dan replied. The casualness of his tone made Jerry look at him sharply, remembering his words of the night before.

'And you?' Ellison asked.

'Yes,' Jerry said.

'Of course, I'll continue to stand by and make myself useful,' Relf added.

'That's fixed, then — and thank you.'

Ellison straightened up. 'We'll rush everything back to the works, and I'll put up two new cars. You'd better have one of them, Jerry— your old machine will do for practice work, and it can stand as a reserve machine'

'Who'll be the third driver?' Dan asked.

'I wish it could be myself!' Ellison exclaimed. 'I'll try and get someone who'll match up with you two. But I can foresee difficulties, because some drivers may be a bit scared of the machines. However, we'll see!'

He jerked open the door, pausing there.

'We'll put everything on the train to Calais— late tonight, if I can arrange it. I must stay here to settle matters.'

He went then, and Dr. Relf stood shaking his grey head as he watched Ellison cross the yard.

'I am sorry he has made up his mind to race on.' he said.

'It's just what I'd do,' Dan told him. He came to the door and knocked out his pipe, then began refilling it. 'Well, we can start work again now! Jerry, I'll see that Bill's machine is brought in and maybe you could ask Tad to get some sort of crate ready for it.'

Jerry found much to do during the hours that followed, and as evening came he watched for Evelyn's promised visit. It was late when she arrived, using a hired car in the town.

‘You can drive me back, Jerry, if you're not too busy. Perhaps we can have dinner together again; we shan't have another chance for a little while,’ she suggested. ‘But let's walk first; I've been busy all day, and I'd like to see some grass and trees and breathe fresh air.’

They left the village, finding a narrow road that was no more than a lane and which wound through scattered woods already dark under falling dusk. They met only an old French woman, who was leading a cow by a rope tied to its horns— a wrinkled, withered old woman who wore bundled, faded clothes: she contrasted vividly with Evelyn's loveliness. The old woman smiled and gave some greeting as she passed. Evelyn responded, then looked up and spoke softly.

'If I live long enough, I'll be something like that— in time,' she said. 'Shall you be just as fond of me then, Jerry?'

There was nothing in the question, it was age-old— but it brought to Jerry as bad a moment as he had ever known. He suddenly realised, with an acuteness that was almost overwhelming, that he did not want to risk his life again. He wanted to live, because he knew that he cared for Evelyn— that was why  he was afraid. He did not want ever to be parted from her.

Real fear gripped him; fear of Ellison's cars, fears of the shadow that hung over the machines, fear of the black mystery which had brought three men to their end. It was this which made him catch at her shoulders, holding her close while he bent until ne found her lips. She struggled for a moment, thinking of the French woman plodding along only a few yards away, then grew still as she returned his kiss and, at last, broke from him, laughing a little, leaning towards him as they walked on. Jerry's arm about her shoulders.

‘That was the nicest answer you could have given me,’ she breathed.

Jerry made no reply. He was mastering himself now. There had been comfort in that close contact, and the fear had been suppressed as quickly as it had arisen, although he knew that it still lurked somewhere inside him. He knew that Evelyn had not sensed it, and he was glad, because fear was something a man should keep to himself.

He listened while she talked as they went on down the lane, and presently he found himself telling of Ellison's decision to continue to run his cars.

‘And I'll be driving in the Grand Prix d'Europe,’ he added.

‘I knew you would.’ she answered.

The lane ran into the shadows of a wood. Here and there, grassy backs formed the roadside, and where the trees fell away were patches of open ground, with grass like a carpet and the roadway striking across it. They walked slowly. Jerry relating something of what had happened In the little room by the barn.

‘I shouldn't like to say that Dr. Relf is wrong about the curse,’ Evelyn said. ‘One has an instinct about these things, at times. I've a feeling—’ She stopped, to continue after a moment. ‘A feeling of something being always about the cars and the men. You know that if you go into a dark room, and anyone is there, you can always sense, it— well, something of that sort.’

She turned to where the bank fell away as the lane traversed a little glade. She dropped to the grassy slope, pulling Jerry down beside her. ‘It's quite intangible,’ she went on. ‘It may be only my imagination, but it's a feeling of— of something harmful.’ She was seeking words which would make clear what was in her mind. ‘An atmosphere of something that— that's blind and cruel.’

Jerry was gazing at her, frowning.

‘What I'm trying to say is this: if there really is a curse on Ellison, then it might give the impression I've been talking about. Do you see, now?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ and Jerry nodded. ‘But let's not bother about it any more. I have to go back to it all presently.’

‘There's just one thing more, Jerry,’ Evelyn said quietly. ‘Then we will forget about it. I've got something to show you.’ She opened her handbag, and drew out a photograph; it was doubled over, so that it might fit into the bag without cracking the surface of the picture. ‘I think this was handed in at the inquiry,’ she said. ‘I got it from a man at the hotel. It was taken by a photographer who was at Chatillon when Bill crashed.’

Jerry took the picture, flattening it out. The man who had secured it must have been standing by the palisade, and he had snapped his shutter in the moment that the car hit the sandbank. The photograph showed that the machine had lifted; it was about to hit the palisade, and all four wheels had jolted off the ground. Sand was spurting, and the yellow banner which had been stretched across the bank was rumpled, one end torn clear of its pegs. Evelyn leaned past Jerry, pointing to the figure in the car.

Bill Palmer had been caught in perfect focus, despite the speed of the machine. He was sitting bolt upright, staring straight before him. His mouth was open as if he were shouting, and there was a very clear expression on his face, beneath the dark shape of the goggles. The expression was that of surprise— not fear, just surprise.

‘You might almost think that he did not see the palisade until he hit it,’ Evelyn said.

5. Third Sun

BROOKLANDS track looked like a heat glazed endless grey highway sweeping around a great expanse of scorched green, its outer rim lifted to form scarred bankings. The concrete reflected the pitiless glare of a noon-time sun, and Jerry sweltered as he leaned against the tailboard of a lorry drawn into a shallow bay at the end of the railway straight.

Hot sunshine flashed from the body work of an Ace as the car— one of the team prepared for the Grand Prix d'Europe— dived off the distant banking and came steadily towards him, travelling at an easy eighty miles an hour. It was being ‘run in’ so that everything about the machine might settle down before it was shipped across the Channel. Two others were circling the course, and a fourth —the reserve car— was in the bay by the lorry, with two mechanics making an adjustment to the carburettor. The cars were not being driven hard, and their presence on the track was simply a precaution to ensure that their performance in France would not be spoiled by some minor fault in construction work.

The Ace came up and went by with the hum of tyres sounding above the drumming exhaust note. When it had gone, the red-painted corrugated iron fence across the broad straight held the car's roar for a few moments, then the noise of the machine dwindled. The few machines which had been out on the track when the Aces arrived had disappeared into the paddock, and Brooklands was very quiet now. There had been evidence of considerable interest when the team first arrived, but this had faded when it became clear that the cars were not to be driven fast.

Under Ellison's orders each was to cover a hundred and fifty laps. Jerry had travelled a third of the distance, and Joe Naylor was driving the machine now; Jerry would take over again for the last fifty laps. All four Aces would presently return to the works, there to be checked over and made finally ready for the fight that was to come on the Sarthe circuit, and this monotonous circling of Brooklands was a climax to long days and longer nights of ceaseless endeavour at the factory. It was a relief now to see the cars actually running.

Jerry reached to a lunch basket which stood on the oil-stained floor of the lorry, and bit into the refreshing shape of a cucumber sandwich. Half a dozen mechanics in the long tuning bay were eating food that they had bought, taking advantage of the shadow thrown by a great stack of concrete chunks on the grass behind, piled there after winter repairs to the track. Oil-splashes had blackened the floor of the bay. Short grass grew stubbornly in the cracks between concrete sections of the track alongside. Where there was no grass, narrow patches of dark, brownish moss clung, and it was odd to see moss growing where machines moved at speeds which some times touched 130 miles an hour and more.

Jerry, looking towards the banking off which the Ace had just come, could see its upper rim forming a hard line against the green of trees and bushes, and here were new, rectangular sections of concrete, let into the old surface, which lent the track a peculiar, quilted effect.

Inside the course, only a little distance from Jerry, haystacks were clustered, while cows browsed contentedly in an enclosure close by. Near at hand was a broad, shallow pool, with birds fluttering at its distant edge, where evaporation had bared a muddy shore. Jerry could hear their calls clearly above the background of sound made by the Aces touring round the track.

His glance went to the huddle of buildings about the paddocks, where the little, weather green dome of the pavilion tried to rival the height of trees scattered on the hill behind, and around which the track ran, steeply banked. The sun drew a bright sheen from the roofs of these buildings, and flashed mirror-like from the roof of the great Vicker's shed that sprawled blackly by the Fork.

Just beyond this, Jerry saw Joe Naylor bring his car off the end of the Byfleet banking, the machine vanishing as it dropped to the flat. The banking itself was like a low grey wall, its upper edge a hard line, geometrically precise, disappearing behind the aerodrome buildings, then sweeping on to meet the end of the railway straight.

Jerry liked Brooklands. The track itself was rough and bumpy and hard on a car, and it could be cruel, but it was old and famous, and it was the place where he had first begun to race. He knew that nowhere in the world existed quite the same atmosphere. Within a hundred yards of the spot on which he stood were cows and haystacks, a railway line and a course down which raced the fastest cars ever made by men; there were gorse bushes and wild flowers, telephone wires, and pine trees, and forget-me-nots. As he stood there, a plane dropped from the pallid blue, landing on the flat expanse of the aerodrome inside the track, bringing someone out of the sky for lunch at the Aero Club. Brooklands was a muddle of what was new and what was old; spacious, and yet intimate—dangerous at times, and yet peaceful, in this moment.

He watched his car reappear, flashing beyond the trees at the far side of the public enclosure, shooting behind the hill, and coming into sight again as it dropped off the banking to the railway straight. It ran up, trim and steady. He saw Joe grinning from behind the scuttle fairing as he passed, then one of the mechanics came to the lorry, calling above the booming rush of the car's passing— 'Tad says it's time Mr. Martin pulled in!’

Jerry nodded, and reached into the lorry for a bottle. He stepped to the side of the track as the third car came down the straight, with Dan Martin at the wheel. Jerry lifted the bottle high, waving it; driving in this weather was thirsty work, and he knew that Dan would guess what the bottle meant. He saw him laugh, looking back over his shoulder when he had gone.

Tad Long came to Jerry's side, carrying a linen helmet; he was to take over from Dan.

‘They're all running nicely,’ the foreman mechanic commented. ‘It seems a pity that the guv'nor wont let us do a little fast work— just to see how the cars really go!’

‘I'm going to put my foot down towards the end of my next spell,’ Jerry answered. ‘That can't do any harm.’

They watched the first of the three machines come past again, and Tad eyed it critically.

‘We've got good machines, sir,’ he said. ‘Mr. Ellison can't build any thing better, and we've all done our best this time. We ought to make a good show when we get over there— if the luck changes.’

His words brought back the shadow under which the cars had been made ready, although, somehow, the Auvergne race and all that had happened there had grown very distant.

Brooklands was familiar ground, and, standing there, it seemed impossible to Jerry that the old fears could be revived again, or that the old mystery could touch the event which lay ahead.

‘We'll be all right,’ he assured Tad. Joe came past, then Dan appeared, now coasting up to the bay, making use of his brakes only in the last few yards, stopping the car as Jerry and Tad stepped out to meet it.

'That's the longest thirty laps I've ever done!’ the driver exclaimed, as he climbed out of the narrow cockpit. ‘It's a darned hard job to keep the revs down with a fast car, and nobody else on the track. Ellison's invented a new torture, Jerry!’ He laughed as he watched Tad slide into the machine and send the Ace away.

‘Where's that bottle you were waving?’ Dan asked them.  Jerry filled a glass for him and the driver drained it before he reached towards the sandwiches. The two stood watching the cars for a little while then Dan spoke again.

‘Ellison hasn't come down yet, has he?’

When Jerry shook his head, Dan went on, 'I've an idea that he'll arrive with the man who's to take Bill Palmer's place. I'd like to know who it'll be.’

‘He'll get a good man,’ Jerry answered.

‘I hope he does.’ Dan replied. ‘We shall want someone who can back us up. The lap record at Le Mans stands at over ninety— set up with a car that wasn't in stripped racing trim. When monoposto jobs like ours and the Maseratis and the Alfa-Romeos get on the road, that record isn't going to stand for long. It wouldn't surprise me if somebody gets round at very near a hundred.’

Jerry whistled softly. If Dan thought that lap speeds on the Sarthe circuit were going to touch a hundred miles an hour his judgment was probably accurate, because he never spoke idly. Jerry had driven there in one Grand Prix d'Endurance, and he knew the course well enough to appreciate that such speed was terribly high.

‘Somebody will do ninety-five straight off, during practice— mark my words,’ he heard Dan say. ‘And ninety-five will be moving!’

Jerry commented. ‘It'll mean touching about a hundred and fifty down the straight to Mulsanne— which isn't going to be so pleasant with that dip just before the corner. Remember it?’

Mulsanne was the village in which Ellison had arranged accommodation for the team, and it stood just outside a right-angle turn. This corner lay at the finish of one of the fastest stretches of highway in existence, and immediately in front of it the road dropped precisely at the point where the driver of a fast car would begin to use his brakes, and the down-grade reduced their power.

‘That dip has sent many a machine off the road, making a man come too fast into the corner,’ Dan said. ‘We'll have to watch for it.’ He reached for sandwiches, chewing reflectively while he gazed across the inside of the track.

'I was looking at the entries again last night,' he continued meditatively. 'Your friend Radezza will be there with his team, and there'll be the Rochelles and the Alfas. There's a bunch of new Bugattis, and 'Babe' Cooper is bringing over a couple of Indianapolis Millers because Le Mans is one of the few places where those American jobs might stand the pace. And let me tell you that 'Babe' isn't bringing two cars all the way across the Atlantic just for the fun of it! He's a tough driver, and he thinks he stands a chance.'

Dan filled his glass again. 'Well, here's to us!' he said. 'It's going to be a real race, however you look at it— and Ellison knows it. He's not taking a single chance on the cars not being right and. because of that, you can bet he won't run any risks about the man he brings into the team. It'll be somebody who can put his foot down— and keep it there.'

'D'you think he'll want him to lead the team?' Jerry asked.

'No. I'm to do that,'. Dan said quietly, 'and you're my Number Two. Ellison told me that definitely. I can set a pace and hold it, he says, while you do just what you're told to do, and he likes that. The new man will come behind us.'

They sat on the floor of the lorry after that, watching the mechanics as they got the practice machine running again. One of them took it off, and all four Aces continued round the track, with a mechanic checking the number of laps which each machine made until at last, he called to Jerry.

'Joe's just finishing, sir. We're flagging him in.'

Jerry slipped to the concrete, buckled on his abdominal belt, and reached for his gloves. He was ready when Joe brought the car to a careful stop. The mechanic's face was a mask of sweat and fine dust, out of which his round brown eyes glistened as he drew himself up from behind the wheel, sitting on the tail before he swung his feet clear and dropped beside Jerry.

‘Everything all right, Joe?'

'The air-pressure gauge has worked a bit loose, en,' Joe said. 'I'll tighten it before you go off.'

Jerry slid down behind the wheel, and Joe bent over the edge of the cockpit, reaching behind the instrument board with a tool.  Jerry saw that perspiration had chiselled curving lines in the dust on his face, and the man grinned when the job was done.

'I hope it isn't as hot as this at Le Mans,' he said. 'And keeping the revs, down doesn't let you go fast enough to get a breeze, unless you poke your head over the side.'

He bent nearer, and lowered his voice to an eager whisper. 'Are you going to let her out a bit, sir— just to see how she rides?'

'Give me a signal five laps before I finish,' Jerry answered. 'Then well see what she'll do!'

Joe grinned, and he helped men push-start the machine, so that it roared away, gathering speed until Jerry snapped into top gear along the Byfleet banking and settled down to his work.

As Joe had warned him, it was hot. Sultry fumes came back from the engine, and the way in which the scuttle was flared shot over the top of Jerry's head what might have been a cooling stream of air. The bumps on the track inflicted sharp, sudden jolts against which he found it impossible to brace himself; the machine's springing was set for high speed, and did little to smooth out the roughness of the concrete.

He lifted the car to its set pace, and held it there, the Ace tilting off the banking as the broad vista of the track by the Fork opened up, empty and deserted. He used more throttle to climb the gradient beyond the Fork, keeping the car low, so that the banking around the Members' Hill reared on his right hand. Old tyre marks reached to the upper rim, showing where very fast machines had travelled within half a dozen inches of the edge.

The green-painted Members' bridge flashed above, catching the roar of the car for a moment, then Jerry was swooping towards the wide railway straight again, while a train showed on the embankment, looking dingy and slow, with faces staring out from the windows. He eased his throttle as he dropped to the flat, and was soon passing the lorry to commence another lap.

It was monotonous work, and he amused himself by steering at marks on the track, bringing his front wheels exactly across them. He poked his head over the leather-bound edge of the scuttle to snatch occasional gulps of air which, although warm, was cooler than that of the fume-filled cockpit.

For a long while, his thoughts were occupied with Evelyn, and, after that he wondered about the cars against which he would run in the Grand Prix d'Europe. The race would be faster than anything in which the Aces had competed before, fought out with super tuned machines, by men brought to rivalry through the results of earlier events.

Travelling through the hot sunshine that flooded Brooklands, slipping round and round in that familiar scene, he told himself once more that the coming race could not end in another tragedy. He knew that the Aces were safe; he had seen each one of them built, and had worked on the car he now drove, and he knew how meticulously Ellison had subjected every part of each chassis to the closest scrutiny.

No one had talked about the mystery since the return from Auvergne, but Jerry knew that Dan Martin could not forget that he had now to lead the team, and with this was the knowledge that Perrugi, Tim Duggan and Bill Palmer had also led the team. One had left his bones in Spain, another lay in a little churchyard in the Cotswolds, and Bill had been left in a corner of a railed-in cemetery outside Auvergne.

Jerry could not bring him self to the idea that Dan might share their fate— Dan, with his short nose and his tilted chin— his strong face and his fine build, his long-stemmed pipe and the odd way he looked from eyes half closed.

Presently, Jerry saw Tad Long halted by the lorry with Dan taking his car over, and after that Jerry watched the bay until, at last, he saw Joe Naylor standing out on the side of the track, holding a board on which a figure had been chalked. It was a signal that Jerry had only five more laps to cover to complete the distance that Ellison had set, and he began to ease the throttle pedal down.

He gathered speed on the Byfleet bunking, and was travelling very fast along the railway straight when he approached the lorry again, now with his foot well down on the pedal.  He wore no helmet, and the wind scoured his hair with icy touch as the beginning of the Byfleet banking rose before him once more. The car was rock steady as it tilted to the slope of the concrete, riding high, so that the black, prickly shapes of gorse bushes, set above the edge of the banking, waved and shuddered under the wind of the machine.

Taken at speed, the curve of the long banking was constant, its far end hidden by the yellow-painted, corrugated iron walls of a shed built to replace old and derelict hangars, near the skeleton iron shape of the Byfleet bridge. Clear of the bridge, the banking still curved, the gorse bushes now replaced by the black spires of young fir trees, then Jerry picked up the end of the banking, and braced himself to take it.

He brought his machine up so that it straddled the black line that lay below the outer edge of the track, and a moment after he was pitching down the slope, with a feeling as if he were in a fast-falling lift, then the car hit he flat and he held it to clip the bend by the huge Vickers sheds, swooping up the long rise beyond, the car riding so high on the steep banking here that he could see the fringe of rough-cut grass over its rim.

Old railway sleepers, built as a guard rail at the top of the banking, rushed past in a dull streak, then the railway straight came into view. Jerry held he car high, to take full advantage of the falling slope, and it was then that, without warning, his outside front tyre burst. He had a glimpse of rubber flying blackly and the white streak of canvas beneath, then it seemed as if some tremendous force was trying to thrust the machine upwards and over the edge of the banking. The tail of the car swung up the track, the Ace trying to pivot on its lamed wheel, striving to turn completely round and leap over the banking's brink.

Jerry's arm and shoulder muscles tensed as, his right hand dragging downwards, his left thrusting upwards on the thin rim of the wheel, he tried to force the nose of the Ace into the skid. He saw a low parapet— which marked where the River Wey flowed under the track— and this pitched at him while he felt the dragging strain of the burst tyre as its rubber and canvas whirled wildly. He thought he would hit the parapet, then viciously the Ace came straight again, and the parapet slid past, only inches from the machine. He was pitching at the slope down to the railway straight now, forcing the car away from the dangerous edge of the banking, killing fresh skids as they started, until he had the machine in hand and rolled on, the burst tyre spinning raggedly.

He drew a long breath as he drove towards the bay, from which staring and startled mechanics had run out. Jerry realised that he had been very near death, and in that moment he thanked Ellison for a car which had responded exactly and magnificently to his fight for control. The least fault in the steering would have made a crash inevitable, and now. before he had time to feel shaken as a result of his escape, Jerry suddenly realised what his experience meant.

After this, there could be not the least doubt concerning the steering mechanism of the car. Had any defect existed he must have gone over the banking, or have spun down the track to crash disastrously at the inner edge; it meant that steering trouble could have played no part in the fate which had overtaken the other three Aces. He was thinking of this as he drew the machine to the side of the straight stopping near the bay, Joe leading the rush to him.

‘I thought you were over the top, sir!’ he panted. ‘My oath, that was a near thing!’

‘It's all right, Joe,’ Jerry answered. ‘The heat must have made the tyre burst.’

‘You had an old set, sir— they seemed good enough for running in. I forgot about it when you said you'd open up. I'm sorry,’ Joe's voice was shaking. ‘It would have been my fault!’

Jerry came out of the machine and bent towards the tyre. The tread was torn, ripped from the split canvas, fuming and smoking a little. While Jerry examined it, his mechanic watched his face, marvelling that he could be so cool.

Tad Long stepped to the front of the car.

‘You handled her nicely!’ he said.

‘It was touch and go, Tad,’ Jerry replied slowly, ‘but she went just where I put her, once I'd brought the tail straight.’

The foreman looked at Jerry for a moment, his intelligent face thoughtful.

‘It has given the steering a test we couldn't have got any other way.’

‘That's what I was thinking,’ Jerry replied. ‘And it's just the same steering as Perrugi and Tim had, isn't it?’

‘Just the same,’ the foreman answered. His tone was full of meaning, but he said no more until he asked, almost casually, ‘Do you want to take her round again, sir?’

'I'll put in a few more laps,’ Jerry said. The wheel was changed, and he started again, lapping fast, so that the speed would be an antidote to any possible effect which might have been left on his nerves as a result of the narrow escape. He found himself perfectly cool and quite at his ease, and he saw that Joe Naylor was timing him. Jerry made two really fast circuits out of the ten which he now covered, and when he finally stopped the mechanic was grinning.

‘You did a quick one in seventy nine seconds, sir— near enough for a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour!’

The other cars had now drawn off the track. The work of the day was finished, and Joe began looking the engine over for oil leaks, while Jerry slipped off his belt as Dan came to him, smiling.

‘You've had a bit of excitement, they tell me. I saw them changing your wheel, but I didn't realise just what had happened. It might have been nasty if anyone had been following you.’

‘I don't think so,’ Jerry replied. ‘It was only a matter of holding the machine after the tyre went, and the rest was easy. Tad and I agreed that the steering.’

‘He told me,’ Dan broke in. ‘It'll settle any last doubts Ellison may have had about those crashes.’ They talked, watching the mechanics, until a car appeared, travelling close against the edge of the track and inside the ten-foot line. It was Ellison's Ace saloon and, as the car stopped, they saw that he had a companion.

‘Charlie Thorne,’ Dan said slowly. Jerry recognised him, and knew that this was the man whom Ellison had chosen to occupy the vacant cockpit— a reckless, daring devil who fulfilled the popular conception of a racing driver, and who usually did something during an event which put his name in the newspapers. He was little liked at Brooklands, but he did not often appear there now; he ran in Continental road races or made short distance record attempts, where success depended upon work at absolutely full throttle. His build was sinewy and his features were unusual. His eyes and mouth were pinched so closely to his stump nose that he would have been pug-faced, except for his high fore head and long, narrow chin. He had dark, stubbly hair, and the back of his head was flat so that, at first sight, he seemed hard and uncompromising, but his lean chin suggested weakness. His face lacked balance, and this was demonstrated when he drove, because he liked to be popular with the crowds, gaining cheap plaudits by driving which looked desperate and dangerous. Yet, somehow, his natural skill seemed always to keep him out of real trouble.

'I've arranged with Thorne to drive our third car,’ Ellison said, as be came up. ‘You know one another, I think.’

Thorne reached for Jerry's hand, smiling as they shook briefly, before he exchanged a grip with Dan.

'I'm glad to be able to join you,’ he said, in a voice which was peculiarly high pitched and thin. 'I'll try and back you up.’

‘Your car's at the far end of the bay. if you want to see it— you'll like it, I think!’ Ellison said. ‘Look it over, then take the practice job out for a run.’

Thorne seemed to forget them as he walked eagerly forward. He gave attention to the car, moving around it, his head tilted to one side. Tad Long unstrapped the bonnet and Thorne peered about the engine, then slipped his feet over the edge of the cockpit and slid down behind the wheel. The very way in which he surveyed the machine showed his knowledge and his confidence, and he sat there for half a minute before he spoke. 'I'd like the squab brought forward an inch or so,’ he said to Ellison, with out looking up. 'I'll get more support for my shoulders then. And I'd like to sit a bit higher.’

His hands shifted about the steering wheel. ‘And I'd like cord round the bottom of the rim, too—about half-way round.'

His thin tones sounded a little querulous, while he shifted his position in the cockpit, ramming  himself to the off side. ‘You might deepen the cut-away a bit,’ he said, ‘so that I'll have good elbow room on the corners— and pad it well.’

He was scowling as he talked but, suddenly, his face cleared and he looked up, thin lips parting in a smile which showed square-edged teeth.

‘Excuse me, but I didn't mean it to seem as if I'm giving orders,'' he said quickly.

‘I'll have it all fixed for you,’ Ellison answered. ‘Just say what you want, Thorne. Tad Long, here, looks after these things for me.’

‘Thanks.’ The new driver nodded to the foreman, then slipped nimbly from the machine.

‘Can I try the practice car now?’

Jerry and Dan bad been standing by, both impressed by his air of concentration, his experienced and definite manner. Charlie Thorne knew what he was about: he had no diffidence or qualms. He seemed to appreciate that he had a job to do, and he was already setting about it. He borrowed a cushion to raise the seat of the reserve machine, then settled into the car, after asking for the loan of Jerry's abdominal belt. He sent the machine away steadily, covering three laps at relatively low speed before he went past with one arm up lifted as a signal that he intended to open out, and they heard the exhaust roar deepen when he stepped on the throttle pedal.

Ellison snapped his fingers to Joe and beckoned for the mechanic's stop watch; the watch clicked when Thorne passed at the end of his next lap, moving fast now. He was sitting bolt upright, close to the wheel, and Jerry watched how he took the car round the long Byfleet banking, high but not too high. Soon he came down the straight again, and Ellison's watch clicked again as the Ace passed.

‘Eighty-four seconds—a hundred and eighteen miles an hour,’ he said. ‘I was afraid he'd put his foot right down, just to show us what he can do, but he must be on his best behaviour.’ He glanced at Jerry and Dan, regarding them for a long moment.

‘You don't like him. do you?’ he asked bluntly.

Dan fumbled for his pipe, and began to fill the bowl before he ma.de any reply.

‘If you want a straight answer— I don't,'' he said. ‘But you needn't worry about that, he won't know it.’

‘I understand you,’ Ellison said. ‘But he's a thundering good driver— no one can deny that. And I think I can keep him in hand.’

His meaning was clear enough. He had talked to Charlie Thorne on the way to the track, and Jerry guessed that Ellison must have been very direct in what he said, stressing that the driver would be required to handle his machine according to orders, and not, as Thorne preferred, flat out from the start. They watched him come by, clipping the bend at the end of the straight, holding the car down on the banking beyond, getting the feel of the machine, testing it for vices at two miles a minute.

‘I have his promise that he will drive according to instructions,’ Ellison went on suddenly. He turned to Dan. ‘Try and be as friendly as you can with him,’ he appealed. ‘Things are not going to be easy when we get across to Le Mans, and I believe that Thorne is decent enough at heart. If he thinks you are in the least antagonistic he'll resent it, and that may make difficulties.’

‘We only want someone to back us up,’ Dan assured him, ‘and if he'll do it—well, that'll be fine. Isn't that so, Jerry?’

‘Of course.'

They said no more, remaining in silence while the practice machine covered four more laps, then came in. Thorne slid out of the cockpit.

'I'll know more about the car when I've been round the Le Mans circuit.’ he said. ‘But it's a nice machine, Mr. Ellison, and I know I'll be able to do all you want of me.’ He offered his hand. ‘Thank you for asking me to drive!’

His tone sounded sincere, and after that he took his own mount round the track, keeping the speed well below a hundred miles an hour, while the rest of the cars were moved into the paddock. Thorne joined them there, and the mechanics made ready for the return to the works.

The three drivers found themselves together, with nothing to do until the cars were ready to leave, and it was Thorne who suggested a move to the refreshment buffet. ‘Not that I'll touch anything stronger than tea,’ he said. ‘That's part of my agreement with Ellison. Tea, coffee, or tonic water only— all celebration to be postponed until we've won the race! Does the same thing stand for you?’ He chuckled as they nodded, then led the way up the pavilion steps.

Soon he was talking about the machines, listening as they gave him details; it was easy to see, all the time, that there was something on his mind. He spoke of it finally. ‘What about the smashes you've been having?’ he asked abruptly.

‘You know as much about them as we do,’ Jerry answered quietly. Thorne looked at him, then leaned nearer, lowering his voice.

‘I thought, maybe, there was some thing wrong, and that Ellison had put it right this time,’ he said. ‘I imagined that it was steering trouble.’

‘Did you?’ Jerry asked, and told him about the skid which had occurred hardly an hour before. ‘Does that sound like steering trouble?’

‘No,’ Thorne agreed, and sat with his dark brows bent, his lips pursed, so that his features were screwed up— scowling— between his brow and chin. He peered at the two. ‘Well, what caused the crashes?’

‘Nobody knows,’ Dan said calmly.

‘There's nothing tricky about the cars?’ Thorne demanded.

‘Nothing at all.’

He sat back, his expression a little uncertain. ‘I had an idea that I might get some inside information from you,’ he said, ‘but if you don't know anything, perhaps I can tell you something.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Not that tell make any difference to me, because, once I start, I'll drive until the wheels drop off.’ He laughed, his lips twisting, a hint of bravado in his mariner.

‘I heard something the other day which made me think, and it was before Ellison asked me to drive.’ He leaned nearer. ‘It's about Perrugi having a curse on him.’ He waited, but neither answered. ‘I know that's true, and I know something else— about Perrugi. I was at Monza when he teamed up with Nicolo for the Italian Grand Prix. That was two years ago.’

‘I remember’ Dan replied.

‘Nicolo and Perrugi had a dog-fight the first fifteen laps or so,’ Thorne told them. ‘They were at one another all the time, passing and repassing, neither giving an inch— queer team work, wasn't it?’ Thorne looked at them again, while Dan tamped tobacco into the bowl of his long-stemmed pipe, saying nothing.

‘I was in that race.’ Thorne added. ‘I had a Bugatti, and came home third to Perrugi— and I knew before we started that Nicolo would never finish.’

He had Jerry's attention now; Dan was watching as he struck a match and began to draw on his pipe. Thorne's thin voice came more quickly. ‘You know the kind of man Perrugi was, don't you?’ he asked. ‘Good looking and dashing, and he tried to make up to Nicolo's girl. There was a row about it the night before the race, and Nicolo knocked him down. They had to be held apart, or they'd have killed one another— and the girl was there to see it all.’ Thorne stopped, as if to make sure that they were following the significance of his words. He almost whispered what be had to tell them now.

‘Perrugi was raging mad, because he was proud and the girl had seen him floored. He struggled for a bit, then stopped, and the way he looked at Nicolo scared me. I was one of the men holding him— it all happened in one of those villas by the track. He blackguarded Nicolo until the Italian broke away and hit him across the face. The others dragged him back, and Perrugi stood there, and he cursed Nicolo until the girl screamed— she couldn't understand his words, but she knew what he was doing. And he told Nicolo that he wouldn't come alive out of the race next day.’ Charlie Thorne paused.

'When Nicolo was chasing Perrugi off  the short banking into the straight Nicolo skidded and went clean through the railings.'

He rose from his chair, while Dan blew a thin cloud of blue smoke towards the roof, watching the man through it.

'I'm not making any comment,' Thorne said slowly. ''I only knew what I saw and what happened afterwards. And if Perrugi has put a curse on Ellison— well, I wouldn't take chances about it.'

He bent towards Dan.

'Perhaps you don't believe in that sort of thing,' he added. 'But I'll tell you this— nothing on earth would persuade me to lead his team at Le Mans. Perrugi may be dead, but it looks to me as if he's left something behind him that nobody can fight.'

6. Shadow of Perrugi

CARS WERE on the Sarthe circuit for practice. Jerry was sitting on the broad counter of the Ace pit, digging into a halved grapefruit, using a spoon with a broken handle. Dr. Relf leaned over the planking from behind, a bag containing half a dozen grape fruit at his elbow; he always had a stock of these during practice, and they were acceptable to drivers who pulled in at the depot for adjustments.

Dan and Charlie Thorne were out on the circuit, and Joe Naylor was changing plugs in Jerry's engine, working with bare hands, muttering every time he burnt his fingers. Early sunshine threw shadows from the tall pits and flooded the big grand stand opposite. It was double-tiered in the centre, roofed with corrugated iron, and had balustrades of wood painted yellow, red and white, forming splashes of bright colour. The long stand was quite empty, but a few groups of spectators leaned over the enclosure fence, staring towards the pits; immediately in front of them lay a ditch, then a thick rampart of earth held by a palisade painted white and blue. That rampart was duplicated at almost all points where a car might possibly get out of hand on the Le Mans course.

Jerry watched an Alfa-Romeo leap into sight from down the course; its bodywork was livid red in the sun light, changing to a dull hue when it shot through the shadows cast by the Pits and went snarling wickedly on. When he glanced along the line of depots he saw Evelyn; she was perched on the counter of the pit belonging to her father's firm, sorting through a bundle of tinted dockets, while two Frenchmen stood near and argued excitedly with her father.

Jerry was conscious of the thrill which always came to him when he was at work on a circuit, stirred by the reek of burnt racing oil and the fumes of doped fuel, the flaring colour of advertisements, the voices of French and German and Italian mechanics, and, above all. the urgent roar of machines. He recognised the howl of a Maserati, and saw Radezza bring his car from the bend at the start of the short grandstand straight. He was almost level when a Rochelle appeared, and behind it was one of the two Millers entered for the race, pulling out to pass.

The American machine was painted white, but the wheels were blue. The stars and stripes showed on the shoulder of its engine cover, and behind the steering wheel was burly 'Babe' Cooper. He was enormously broad, and his elbows jutted over the cut-away sides of his single-seater cockpit as he forced his machine past the French car, then began to chase Radezza. There remained only one more spell of practice before the race, and Jerry knew that nearly every driver was opening out, because positions on the starting line depended upon practice speeds. Drivers who were to act as team leaders were trying to register times which would put them in front at the line-up.

So far, the Aces bad been driven cautiously; careful preparation had kept them free of any real trouble, although all had lapped at very little below ninety miles an hour. The record for the course had been broken in the first hoar of practice by a Bugatti, but Radezza had once pushed the figure up to ninety four miles an hour. It would, Jerry guessed, go higher still before preliminary work ended.

He caught the full-throated roar of an Ace, and Dan appeared, his head lifting behind the wheel while he looked questioningly towards the pit as he saw the halted car. Jerry waved his grape fruit to show that all was well, then tossed away the empty peel of the fruit as he dropped off the counter and began to help Joe screw home new sparking plugs. The work was done when he heard the dry, harsh rubbing of brake-shoes in their drums and, looking up, saw Thorne pulling into the pit area. He stopped, and Jerry sensed that something was wrong from the way in which the man climbed out of the car, pushing up his goggles, then bending at the front of the machine.

Ellison was in the pit, standing by a timekeeper who operated a battery of stop-watches. He watched Thorne walk an round the Ace, bending about the car, peering and prying before he straightened up.

'I got into a skid on the comer at Mulsanne.' His thin tones sounded uncertain, and he looked concerned. 'I damned' nearly hit the sandbank,' he added. His features were bunched and scowling, and he turned to stare at the machine again. 'The car looks all right,' he said. 'Nothing wrong that I can see.'

'You probably tried to take the turn too fast.' Ellison suggested. Thorne made no answer. Tad Long swung over the pit counter and began to examine the car, while Thorne pulled nervously at the strap of his linen helmet, frowning.

'I was behind Sezanne.' he said. 'I took it at his speed, and we can corner as fast as the Rochelles.'

'Then you were going too fast,' Ellison answered quietly, and looked at the chart which lay beside the stop watches. 'Sezanne covered his last lap at just ninety-three miles an hour. If you were sitting on his tail, you must have had your foot right down. You'd come very fast into the corner, then.'

Thorne looked at him, but made no reply. Ellison climbed over to the road, calling a mechanic, who began to check the tyre pressures, while Tad slid on his back under the front of the machine, examining the steering and the springs. He came out and reported, and the mechanic gave the readings of his gauge. 'The car's all right,' Ellison told Thorne, and smiled a little. 'You were going faster than you thought. You must keep an eye on your rev counter down the straight— remember that.'

'It was probably the dip Just before the corner that deceived you.' Jerry said, as he came to Thorne's side. 'It sends your speed up quite a lot'

'It might have been that,' Thorne agreed slowly, and he was still worried. 'Only I've always been careful of Mulsanne.'

'It's a difficult approach.' Jerry told him. 'You've got to start braking as soon as you're off the slope, you can't slow enough otherwise.' His last words were lost in the furious howling of 'Babe' Cooper's Miller as the machine came into the straight again, shifting under full throttle. The American had passed Radezza and as the car roared by, taking the sweeping turn under the footbridge, the time keeper shouted: — 'Ninety-five point three! He's broken the lap record. Mr. Ellison.'

'And here's Radezza after him,' Jerry answered. The black Maserati pitched into sight, straddling the white line painted down the centre of the road, the driver's head tilted as he stared past the edge of his windshield, while he chased the American.

Ellison stood staring after the two machines, and Jerry turned to Thorne. 'I'm just off again,' he said. 'You might try following my track through Mulsanne. I think I've learned the fastest way round it.'

'Yes, do that, Thorne.'

Ellison turned to them, and patted the man's shoulder. 'You'll get the feel of that corner if you take it the same way as Jerry does.'

'All right.' Thorne's expression cleared. ''Only that skid had me guessing for a bit.' The tone of his voice told what was in his mind. He had an idea that something had gone wrong with the machine; an unexpected skid can give a driver that impression. He was coupling it with what had already happened to Ace cars and, plainly enough, it had disturbed him.

If Ellison guessed at this, he gave no indication of it. He turned to the chart beside the stop-watches, and seemed to make up his mind.

'Both of you go out again.' he said, 'and I think you might open up for a couple of laps. We'll let other people know that theirs aren't the only fast cars on the course. You understand me?'

Jerry nodded quickly. Ellison was telling them to let the cars out, to try and set up times which would match the speeds shown by Cooper and Radezza.

Jerry started towards his car, but stopped when he saw the third machine in the team pulling in. It ran alongside, with Dan leaning from the cockpit.

'Anything wrong?' he asked.

'No.'

Ellison beckoned to the others as he approached. 'But Cooper has just lifted the lap record to ninety five, and I think we might try to beat it. If we do. some of them may try to push the figure still higher and they might find themselves in difficulties then.'

'In other words— blow up and save us the trouble of beating them in the race, is that it?' Thorne asked. He grinned, his natural boastfulness showing.

Dan exchanged a glance with Jerry.

'I've been waiting for you to say something like this,' Dan told Ellison.

'You go after the lap record,'' Ellison instructed him. 'Jerry, you and  Thorne get round as quickly as you can without taking risks.'

He paused, turning to Dan again. 'Come fast past the pits, and I'll flag you to put your foot down when there are no cars in front that might hamper you.' He looked at Thorne. 'You make sure about the Mulsanne turn, then open up as well.'

Dan waved his hand, dragged his goggles over his eyes and sent his green machine spurting away, while Jerry ran to his own car and slipped in, his pulses beating a little faster than usual. Ellison was giving them the chance to learn what the cars could do on the course; if, by some mishap, anything went wrong during the effort, there would still be time to effect repairs before the race.

Joe and Ellison push-started Jerry's machine, and Thorne followed. both gathering speed through the long bend beyond the pits, where high ground formed natural esplanades, and the road was edged with heavy ramparts of sand, faced by wattle fencing. At the end of a mile came quick S bends, then the two machines were shooting under twin footbridges into a short straight that led to a corner where the course joined a route nationale that ran to Tours. A long bank of red sand guarded the outside of this turn, then the road dropped to where trees stood sentinel, their trunks white-washed to indicate an easy curve, beyond which the high way became very wide and absolutely straight, forming the fastest section of the course.

Here Jerry opened up, Thorne remaining twenty yards behind him, both holding their cars on to the white line which marked the centre of the way. Broad grass strips flanked the road, with trees massed in solid green banks beyond, growing blurred as the pace of the machines rose, and Jerry was touching a hundred and thirty miles an hour when he slammed past a little cafe set beside the straight. It was grey-fronted, with orange-collared awnings, and two racing machines had halted here, the drivers drinking coffee, turning to watch the Aces flash by.

The white needle of Jerry's revolution counter climbed yet higher on its dial, sliding across the red slip. The wind, tearing past his ears, dulled the roar of his engine, but he could hear the high drone of his supercharger and the exhaust-note came as a steady blare— sonorous and, somehow, satisfying. The machine was vibrant, magnificent in its response to his control, and he watched the tapering trees ahead, until, at a hundred and forty miles an hour, he came to where the course curved slightly, as a warning of the Mulsanne corner.

Jerry cleared the curve. Ahead, he saw the village, with the route nationale slashing straight through it, passing the Ace racing camp. The circuit itself turned abruptly to the right before it reached the buildings, and the green verge of the road narrowed as thin pine trees stepped outwards. The car pitched over the crest of the dip that had deceived Charlie Thorne, its pace rising until Jerry became busy with brakes and gear lever, drawing the Ace outwards during the last rush to the turn. A glimpse in his driving mirror showed that Thorne was following in his wheel-marks, braking when, he braked, changing in unison until Jerry put his machine into the corner with precise judgment, accelerating through it, cutting across the bend where a line of bricks formed a border to the grass. On the outside was a great sand bank, backed by a heavy palisade, and beyond the corner the road narrowed abruptly, running between dark pine trees.

The two machines picked up speed all the way to a sharp curve, then roared at difficult bends which slowed them for the corner at Arnage. The turn was even more abrupt than that at Mulsanne, and it gave on to what might have been an English country lane. Hedges lined it, and the road ran on to a cluster of buildings forming White House bend, where, more than once, cars had piled up in a series of disastrous multiple crashes.

They took it fast, both opening out the moment they were clear, now with the grandstand showing ahead, indicating the end of the lap. it was then that Jerry discovered machines coming up behind, and recognised one as 'Babe' Cooper's Miller. In the bend past the pits, it drew level, then passed, and Jerry used full throttle to hold the machine, while his mirror showed him that Radezza— chasing the American — had passed Thorne. The four were close as they went towards the S-bends, and, clearing them, Jerry heard a roar above the thunder of his own machine, and was amazed to see Thorne shoot past, cornering magnificently into the route nationale, following the white Miller.

Radezza came up, and Jerry knew that this was his chance to learn what the others could do. He opened out, holding his position, and the men who were in the front of the cafe saw the four pass, fighting down the straight, drivers rigid in their cockpits holding the machines, with the pace increasing all the way until they came to the easy bend.

Jerry watched Thorne, and saw him drop into the dip before the corner, then, to Jerry's astonishment, he pulled over and passed the white machine, drawing to the road edge and taking the turn at what must have been the limit of safe speed. A moment after, Jerry was going through the corner, and he could see Thorne drawing away from the Miller along the narrow road beyond. He had shown all his skill in the way he took the turn, following exactly the route that Jerry had demonstrated on the previous lap, and it was evident that Thorne had regained confidence in his machine.

Beyond the tree-shrouded Arnage corner, Jerry let Radezza pass, and slowed the Ace, allowing the other three to race well ahead. He guessed that Dan was probably now making an attempt on the lap record, and Jerry decided to make his own effort during his next run round the course.

Radezza's black machine vanished, and where a by-road crossed the circuit, some little way short of White House turn, Jerry opened up again, taking the dangerous bend with the throttle pedal flat. The line of replenishment depots opposite the stand caught the roar of the Ace, then Jerry was driving under the footbridge, moving far faster than ever before through the long curve. Goggled eyes showed over the scuttle fairing as he watched for the S-bends, supercharger droning high and exhaust bellowing when he went into them with a hard swing to the left, then to the right and then to the left again, out ting close to the wattle-lined banks at the side of the road, the car on the point of sliding, tyres shrilling through the machine's thunder.

Little groups of spectators on the esplanades stared as the Ace leaped from the last curve, streaking towards the Tours road, cutting the corner closely with Jerry opening the throttle the fraction of a second too soon as he came out of it. The tremendous power of his engine, rushing to the rear wheels before the car was straight, flung it into a skid. He corrected it instantly, although the car was carried, with dust and grit flying, almost to the sandbank before he brought it straight.

Past white-washed tree trunks and down the slope to the great, flat stretch ahead, moving now at nearly full bore; Jerry's natural caution made him hold a little power in hand, but his revolution counter showed a speed of a hundred and fifty miles an hour after he passed the cafe. He held this all the way to the dip, when he drifted the car out to the road edge, then went fast through the turn and down the narrow wav beyond. In the Arnage bends the nose of the car swung first one way and then the ether, with Jerry stamping the pedal flat in the short rush to the corner. He opened up again for the last dash to the finish, wondering if White House bend could be taken safely under nearly full throttle.

When it came at him, he set his teeth and held the car to the outer edge of the road, where the surface was very slightly banked, and went through with tyres screaming, requiring only a little greater speed to slide and send the machine off the course.  The Ace came through safely and he glanced at the pits. He saw Evelyn in front of the Ace depot, waving the collared papers that she held. The mechanics appeared to be excited; he guessed that Dan must have broken the record, and he knew that his own car must have set up a very fast time.

He decided to make one more fast lap and, with the Ace travelling at full bore he came towards the S-bends once more, his foot making a sudden movement towards the brake pedal when an official jumped out from the side of the road, waving a blue 'caution' flag. Beyond him, in the curves, Jerry saw a long, rising cloud of dust, and he knew that someone must have gone off the road. He slowed, using his brakes violently, the car half sliding as he reached the first bend. Torn fencing strewed the heart of the curve, and he tried to miss it, but his tyres clipped fragments of wood and sent them skimming through the air. He slowed still more.

At the other side of the road beyond the bend, ten yards of fencing had been ripped down, sand spilling out from the gap. Just past this was a halted car, and Jerry was level before he realised that it was Thorne's Ace. Men stood by it, and others were running across the esplanade. Jerry braked hard, stopping by the twin foot-bridges, climbing out and running back. An Alfa-Romeo came up and passed, the Italian driver staring towards Thorne, his wheels lifting a section of fencing from the road so that it spun at Jerry. He dodged it and ran on, looking at the halted car.

The body was dented and scratched on both sides. Both front wheels were bent and buckled, while the radiator core been punctured, so that a plume of steam rose and half hid the machine. It was evident that Thorne had hit the apex of the first bend, careering sideways across the road, to strike the opposite fence. He was out of the machine when Jerry came up. Officials were with him, while others tried to clear the road as practising machines— flagged down— came through the bends at a crawl.

'Are you hurt?' Jerry panted, catching at Thorne's arms.

'No, I'm all right!'' He looked a little dazed and shaken. His voice was gasping, because he had been partly winded against the steering wheel. Jerry tore open his overalls, unstrapping the abdominal belt, and massaging above the pit of his stomach. In thirty seconds Thorne had recovered himself, and stood leaning against the fencing, looking at the car.

'Did you skid?' Jerry asked.

'No.' Thorne shook his head. 'I was moving pretty quickly, and then—' He broke off. 'Then I hit the fence.'

His tone was surprised. He seemed to have little idea of what had actually occurred. 'It was just like a skid at Mulsanne,' he said in his thin voice, as a touring machine swept through the bends, coming to a stop near Jerry's Ace. Ellison and Dr. Relf appeared from it, running back.

'He's shaken up a bit, but he's not hurt!' Jerry called to them. By this time the road had been cleared, and official wanted to move the car away from the bends. Jerry and Ellison assisted them, while Relf helped Thorne on to the flattened bank behind the torn fence, where he assured himself that the driver had suffered no injury. The warning flags were withdrawn; machines passed at greater speed, and Ellison examined the wrecked car.

'This wont run on Sunday,' he said shortly. 'The front axle is set right back, and the steering's knocked about. How did it happen, Jerry?'

An official, who understood English, broke in with, efforts to explain. He indicated that the car had entered the bends much too fast, and simply could not clear them.

Ellison was questioning him when Evelyn appeared; she had cut across the inside of the course behind the pits, and came running from the trees at the back of an esplanade, accompanied by Tad Long. As she dropped down to the road, Dan brought up his Ace; his brakes went on, and he stopped just clear of the wrecked car. Jerry listened while Evelyn spoke in French with the officials, and Dan came hurrying up, his expression concerned.

Jerry saw that Thorne was still frowning and puzzled; it was peculiar that so good a driver, with in only a matter of minutes, should have got into two unaccountable skids.

'What happened seems clear enough.' Evelyn said at last, turning to Ellison. 'The car was moving too fast, that's all. They say that he tried to cut the first bend, and he couldn't quite do it. He hit the banks and bounced right across the road to the other side here, tearing down the fencing before he stopped. They say that when they saw him coming, they knew he couldn't get through.'

Ellison nodded his thanks to her then walked along the road, trying to trace the path the machine had taken. For a little time, nothing more occurred. Frenchmen came up, talking to Relf and Evelyn as they stood by the damaged car. A couple of photographers appeared, and newspaper man arrived to get details of the crash.

Practice had obviously finished for the Ace team, and it came to an official end shortly afterwards. Then the course was thrown open to normal traffic. Thorne had regained his colour by that time, and he still insisted that the accident was unaccountable.

'We can't effect repairs to your car in time for the race, and you'll have to drive the practice job,' Ellison told him. when he returned. 'I think we'll get back to Mulsanne now.'

'I'm sorry about this,' Thorne said.

'Not so sorry as I am,' Ellison answered dourly, and his slow tones were harder than usual as he went on. 'If you don't understand what happened, I'll tell you.' He looked directly at the driver. 'You tried to get through these bends by just swerving the machine, but they can't be taken that way. Others have tried it and come to grief, and, on top of that, you were moving too fast.'

'I don’t think I was,' Thorne protested. Ellison made no reply, turning towards the car in which he had arrived. Photographers and newspaper men, an eager to learn what had occurred, attempted to talk to Thorne, but Dan drew the driver away from them.

'The less you say about this, the better,' he grunted. 'You go with Ellison.' Relf led him off, and Dan exchanged a glance with Jerry.

'If he starts talking, he'll try and suggest that this was another mystery crash,' he said. 'We don't want that.'

They moved off together, and it was when Jerry reached his own car that he found Evelyn following. 'I've got to go back to Mulsanne, and I'll sit on the tail — if you promise to drive slowly,' she smiled. 'Because I want to talk to you,'

Three minutes later the Ace was rolling down the broad straight, its exhaust spluttering and banging because the car was moving at a crawl. Evelyn was perched insecurely on the tail clinging to the sides of the cockpit, her head bent close so that she was able to speak into Jerry's ear, her voice carrying above the noise of the car.

'What do you think happened to Thorne?' she asked presently.

'He insists that the whole thing took him by surprise.'

'So did that first skid at Mulsanne,'' Jerry answered. 'I think he was trying to be a little too clever— and overdid it!'

'And he won't admit it?'

Jerry nodded, but as he drove on.

He remembered how Thorne had beaten Cooper into the Mulsanne corner a little while earlier. That had been clever work. Thorne knew, as well as anyone, that a driver's first concern should be to keep his machine on the course: he was not the sort of man to take unnecessary risks. In that case, there was something more than a little puzzling in the accident.

Jerry discussed it with Evelyn as they ran down to Mulsanne where the buildings were set well back from the road and where trees made the place faintly reminiscent of some Suffolk village. Ellison had secured quarters in a farmhouse, approached by a short narrow lane. The entrance was formed by an arch, flanked by great barns, leading to a courtyard. The house lay at the opposite side and on either hand were stables, one of which had been cleared to accommodate the machines. An door or hay and horses still hung about the place. almost lost in the reek of oil and petrol. Mechanics and drivers lived in the house.

Dan had already arrived with his machine, and he laughed when he saw Evelyn on the tail of Jerry's car. He helped her down.

'That must have been a rough ride,' he observed .

'It was,  but it will he worth it—if you invite me to breakfast,' she replied.

She had joined them in the meal more than once, and the farmer's wife invariably loaded the table with dishes containing bacon and kidneys, chops and salads, following her own ideas of an English breakfast.

Evelyn first hurried to the headquarters which her father had set up in the village, presently joining the two in a big room which had dingy yellow walls and a floor covered with red tiles. Its furniture was hard and bleak, but the meal which stood ready compensated for that. Plates were set for Ellison , Relf and Thorne, but they did not wait for them, and appetites enhanced by early morning work had become a little less keen by the time that Dan spoke of Thorne's crash.

'It could have been a lot worse,' he said, 'and, believe me, he must have rammed the side of the road hard.'

'But he seemed so— surprised!' Evelyn insisted. 'That's what I think is so strange.'

'It's just his way of excusing him self,' Dan assured her. 'He's that sort. When you get to know him, you find out that nothing like this is ever his fault. He knows what happened— and exactly why it happened, too!'

'I'm not so sure.' She looked at Jerry. 'Do you remember the photograph I showed you of Bill's crash at Chatillon — and how surprised he appeared to be?'

Dan glanced up. He, too, had seen that picture, and he began to appreciate what was in Evelyn's mind.

'I was wondering if there might be some connection,' she said. 'The photograph shows that Bill Palmer was astonished, and Thorne seemed to be the same. There's another thing,' she added, speaking steadily. 'Tad Long is expecting to get hold of that other picture— the one that was taken when Tim Duggan went off the road in Italy.'

'That might be interesting,' Dan answered, and his tone was short. She stared at him. Only then did Evelyn remember that the subject of the Ace crashes had been ruled out during preparation for the race; they were in the mind of every man, but no one spoke of them.

'I'm sorry, Dan,' she said quietly.

He smiled, and laughed a little. 'I try not to think about all that,' he said. 'You see, I'm now doing the job that the others did, and I won't admit that what happened to them can happen to me. I've come to the conclusion that there is no explanation for it all, that the smashes just— happened! You can imagine all kinds of things about it, if you try and, just now, I'm much more interested in what lap speeds we set up this morning.'

He was about to add something else, but checked as Ellison entered. He had caught Dan's last words, and spoke as he drew a chair up to the table. 'You did very well, Dan— very well indeed.' He helped himself from a covered dish before he went on. 'Thorne, by the way, is all right now, and the men are bringing his car in.' His heavy face lost something of its mask-like quality when he smiled. 'I imagine we've left Radezza and a few of the others with something to think about,' he added. 'You lapped over ninety-seven miles an hour, Dan!'

Dan sat upright in his chair his eyes widening. 'I knew I was travelling— but are you sure?'

'That's the official time, and if it isn't beaten tomorrow, you'll be first on the starting line, Ellison said.

'Thorne did ninety-six point eight, and you clocked ninety-six point five, Jerry. All three of you smashed the lap record!'

They were silent for a little while after that. Evelyn sat with her eyes shining looking from Jerry to Dan. No car had ever lapped the Sarthe circuit as fast as the three Aces, and If their figures continued unbeaten, they would be at the head of the rest when the machines lined up. 'Our times will affect the race a great deal,' Ellison said. 'Everyone will have to move quite a bit faster than they expected, and you can take my word for it that the Rochelle people are in something of a panic.'

He had given rival teams a very real hint of the speed of which his machines were capable and this meant that, right from the start of the race, all other cars would need to travel hard and fast if they were to hold the Aces. The Maseratis and Alfa-Romeos, the Bugattis and Rochelles and Millers— all had, somehow, to be tuned to the same speed before they came to the line, otherwise they would be outclassed.

All this meant that the Grand Prix d'Europe would be fought out at very high speed, and the event would prove just that much more dangerous. Towards the end of the meal Dr. Relf and Thorne joined them. The driver had regained his normal jauntiness; he joked about the skid and the damage he had done to the fencing, but he was not at his ease. Whether he knew that Ellison's idea of the accident was right and that, fundamentally, it had been due to bad driving, or whether the whole circumstance still remained a mystery to him it was impossible to tell. Either would have accounted for his manner.

Presently, Evelyn left to attend her father's affairs, while Dan went up to the room that he shared with Jerry. It was his habit, after practice, and when work permitted, to read papers from England until he drifted to sleep, rousing only for the midday meal. Jerry helped Thorne and a mechanic strip the seating from the damaged car and fit it to the practice machine which was now to run in the race. It had received the same preparation as the rest, and was just as fast. Thorne took it out during the afternoon, lapping the circuit at moderate speed in order to adapt himself to those minor and almost indiscernible differences which exist, to a racing man, between two machines that, externally, are precisely alike.

Early in the evening, Thorne drove alone to Le Mans. Jerry dined with Evelyn at the cafe along the Mulsanne straight, accompanied by Dr. Relf and Dan. Darkness was falling when they started back, the doctor and his companion striding ahead, while Jerry followed slowly with Evelyn. The broad road was very quiet. Occasionally they were caught by the headlights of some passing car, which went by with a stirring rush, the driver usually pushing his machine to the limit of its pace. The illuminated windows of the straggling village by the café vanished, and the last glow of daylight faded from the sky.

The two wandered along a narrow track which was almost a footpath, and which took them pleasantly into Mulsanne long after Dan and Dr. Relf had arrived. It was as they approached the lane leading to the racing camp that a car came down the road from Le Mans, and Jerry recognised the exhaust note as that of an Ace. The car was travelling very fast when the brakes shrilled and . the machine swerved, tires shrieking as it was driven into the lane, running across the path before it lurched back to the road again, rushing on towards the farmhouse.

‘Thorne!’ Jerry exclaimed.

‘Does he always drive like that?’ Evelyn asked.

‘I think I know what's wrong with him.’ Jerry stood gazing after the car. ‘Do you mind if I leave you now?’

She glanced at him sharply, then looked towards the red tail-light of the machine. Jerry hesitated only for a moment, then went running down the lane, to reach the courtyard and find Thorne out of the driving seat. The reflection of the side-lamps showed that he was grinning, his long jaw looking narrower than usual. His hair was tousled, and he chuckled as he ran a hand through it.

‘ Lo, Jerry,’ he said, 'everything all right?’

He received no answer as Jerry took his arm and began to lead him towards the house, Thorne lurching beside him, muttering protests.

‘I can walk by myself,’ he said, as they entered. 'I'm not as tight as all that.’

‘Keep quiet!' Jerry answered. ‘You don't want anyone to see you like this, you fool.’

Thorne stumbled up the stairs and as he clattered along the passage at the top, the door of Dan's room opened. He stepped out. and took the man's other arm, helping him on.

‘I tell you I can walk by myself!’ Thorne growled, his humour changing.

‘Shut up!’ Dan said.

Thorne's room was set In an angle at the end of the corridor of the old. straggling house. While Jerry switched on the light, Dan thrust Thorne on his bed, regarding him coldly.

‘I thought you were to cut out this sort of thing before the race?'

Thorne's face creased up, his hard under lip jutted and he leered at them.

'That's my affair,’ he said viciously. ‘I wanted to forget what happened this morning, that's ail. The damn car was dangerous—glad I'm going to have another, only very likely that'll be dangerous, too. But I'll drive it!’ He lurched to his feet, gesturing. ‘I'm not scared of it. I'll drive anything that's got wheels!’

‘Keep quiet!’ Jerry pushed him down again. 'If Ellison hears of this, he won't let you race at all!’

Thorne sobered a little. He was steadier when he spoke again.

‘All right, you needn't stop,'' he said. ‘I can manage.’

They left him then and, in their own room, Dan spoke as he closed the door.

‘It's nothing to worry about— so long as it doesn't happen again,’ he said.

‘Thorne's the sort of fellow who needs something to brace himself up. He's been badly shaken, but he won't show any effects of this when we turn out tomorrow.’

He was correct, and when the cars rolled to the course at sunrise, there was nothing about Thorne to indicate his condition a few hours before. He was concentrated, as cool and as confident as ever, handling his machine well. During this final practice, the Aces were driven steadily. Again and again, however, Jerry found cars passing him at real speed, launching attacks on Dan's lap record. Radezza almost equalled it, and ‘Babe’ Cooper beat it, lapping at 97.5 mph.

Sezanne was very fast, but neither of the other Rochelles appeared; men had worked all night on his car, and mechanics were busy trying to bring the others up to the same pitch. Thorne lapped faster than either Dan or Jerry, and during the last minutes he put his foot hard down, getting round the course at exactly ninety-seven miles an hour. ‘I just wanted to make sure that the car was really as good as the one I buckled up,’ he said to Ellison when the machines were flagged off the course.

‘Are you're satisfied?’

‘Quite,’ Thorne grinned. ‘Give me a chance, and I'll lap at three figures.’ The cars returned to Mulsanne, and mechanics began the work of checking them over in readiness for the race. Thorne was busy on his car, like Jerry and Dan, while Ellison remained constantly about the stable, watching everything. Towards evening, Thorne disappeared.

‘It's a million to one that he'll come back in the same condition as last night,’ Dan said. ‘He's scared of the cars, and he's keeping up his courage—  that's why he tried for the lap record this morning. He did it just to hide the fact that he doesn't like his job. We'd better wait up for him.’

Jerry knew from previous experience that he would see nothing of Evelyn that evening; she would be working hard until the morning of the race, which, was still two days away, although no official practice was scheduled on the day before the actual event. The race was due to start at eleven o'clock in the morning, covering sixty laps of the circuit, and giving a total distance of about five hundred miles.

When darkness fell, Dan and Jerry remained in the courtyard. The mechanics had finished work and there was no one about. They had been there hardly an hour when Thorne drove in. If he had been drinking, there was no indication of it, and his manner was sarcastic when he saw them.

‘So you put old Relf to watch me, did you?’ he asked. ‘But you needn't have worried, I'm not a fool. I know I've got to be fit for the race—and I'll be fit!’

He vanished into the house, and he had hardly gone when Dr. Relf arrived, nodding to them as he came from his little car.

‘We've been waiting up for Thorne,’ Jerry said.

‘I thought you might,’ the doctor answered, ‘and I considered it advisable to force my company on him this, evening. I saw him in Le Mans last night, but I did not interfere then. It is better to let a man of his temperament have his fling, and I'll look after him again tomorrow.’

It was some time before Jerry could steep that night. His thoughts constantly turned to the race, and to Thorne. Although the man said nothing of it, his actions showed that he wished himself out of the team, yet some perversion of pride prevented him asking to tie released. He had obviously worked himself into believing that his two skids during practice were the result of some fault in his car— of the fault that had smashed three other machines. Somewhere in his nature must lie a cowardly streak, yet it never showed when he was actually at the wheel.

In any case, whatever the mystery which lay over the Aces, Thorne was in no danger. If precedent were repeated, it was Dan who ran the greatest hazard. Despite himself, Jerry wondered if Dan would come through the event safely. If he did not, then it would be Jerry's own turn to lead the team when they reached Reims, for the French. Grand Prix. He turned from this to consideration of rival cars, and the pace they were likely to set. It would, he knew, be a tremendous race, matching the greatness of its title— Grand Prix d'Europe. Again he wondered how it would end and thinking still of this, sleep claimed him.

He awakened unrefreshed in the morning, and felt heavy until a rough shower-bath in the stable banished the fears of the night.

By noon work on the cars had been completed after which there was nothing more to be done except to pass the remainder of the day as easily as possible. At times the mechanics looked curiously at Dan as men might be expected to look at one who lay under a menace. He was conscious of it and it made him abrupt in his manner. Each glance reminded him that he had to lead the Aces as Perrugi and Duggan and Bill Palmer had done. The fact was inescapable and the very eagerness of the men to serve him now only stressed the ideas that were in their minds

'I m going to get out of this for a bit Jerry,'  he said 'Its beginning to play on my nerves.'

He tried to sleep during the afternoon but failed. Later Jerry saw him drive out to Le Mans with Relf. Thorne disappeared soon afterwards and early in the evening Jerry walked to the cafe by the Mulsanne straight where he was to meet Evelyn for dinner

The place was crowded with spectators who intended to spend the night In their cars by the course. Constant traffic streamed along the road and the evening was filled with the atmosphere of excitement.  It made Jerry uneasy; he hated the period of waiting before a race with its tension increasing right up to the moment of the start reaching its climax just before the fall of the flag

He was glad when the meal ended and he walked with Evelyn along a by-road discovering a village which lay a couple of miles from the course.

They sat outside a cafe for some time drinking coffee but traffic streamed almost ceaselessly through the village headed for the circuit. They left all this behind when they started a four-mile tramp to Mulsanne, Evelyn walking close at Jerry's side She made no attempt to talk to Jerry much and for half the distance they moved almost in silence, then he felt her hand touch his own

'Its a pity that Mr Ellison is so efficient otherwise there might have been work to do on your car, then you'd have something to occupy your mind,' she said quietly. 'This is a rotten time isn't it?'

'Once I get to sleep it will be all right. There'll he plenty to do in the morning.'

'There won't,' Evelyn replied, 'Just hanging about waiting for the time to pass until you run down to the pits. It's always like that.'

He knew that she was right but her understanding helped.

'Its much worse for Dan,' he said.

It was dark when they came into Mulsanne.  The whole village was awake and they found another cafe, sharing a bottle of light wine at Evelyn's suggestion because she feared that coffee might keen Jerry awake. Afterwards she sent him to the camp.

'You've got to get as much rest as possible. And If I don't see you first thing, I'll be in your pit before you start.'

She clung to him a little when they kissed. After that ho walked back to the farmhouse discovering Dan in pyjamas sprawled on his bed.

'ReIf and I missed Thorne,' he explained.  'We spent some time mooning about the town. Relf ordered me back here.  He said he'd locate Thorne on his own, but neither of them has come back yet.'

He growled, ‘I've an idea Thorne will be tight as a drum when hi does turn up, the fool.’

Jerry  slipped into pyjamas, remaining awake.  The farmhouse was quiet and he knew that Ellison had gone to Le Mans. Jerry hoped that he would not encounter Thorne.  Midnight had passed before he heard a car pull into the courtyard below. Somewhere came an uncertain step on the stairs.

‘That's him,’ Dan said, and swung himself off the bed.

Jerry followed to the door. They saw Dr Relf helping Thorne along the passage. The driver's face showed that he was in a savage temper and he tried to shake off Relf's hand, glaring

'Waiting up for me again?’ he asked.

Relf pushed him forward, and as he turned viciously on the little doctor Dan stepped to him, his thick arms taking Thorne from behind. He swung him round, striding down the passage, kicking open the door at the end, then dropping him on to the bed.

‘We don't want any more nonsense from you, Thorne,’ he growled.

Dan stood in the middle of the floor, his fists bunched, and the heavy lids raised from his eyes. Thorne's manner changed at once, although it still remained defiant.

‘All right,’ he muttered.

He began to kick off his shoes, and Relf helped him. Thorne's thin voice began to whine then, speaking what was constantly In his mind:

‘The cars aren't safe,’ he said. ‘They don't skid into fences for nothing!’

He peered at them, waving one hand uncertainly.

‘I've got a feeling that there'll be another smash to-morrow.’

‘Shut up, damn you!’ Dan stepped toward him, his fist lifted, but Relf slipped between the two, holding him back.

‘I wouldn't lead the team!’ Thorne muttered. ‘Three did, and three crashed— and it's your turn now, Martin.’

‘Hold your tongue!’

Relf turned on him, his voice rising. He gripped the man by the shoulder, trying to force him down, but Thorne stood against him. Jerry had never heard the little doctor speak like that, and he was amazed at the timbre of his voice.

‘Perrugi will get you!’ Thorne spoke viciously to Dan. ‘I told you about what he did to Nicolo. He's put a curse on the cars— and you're next!’

He pointed defiantly, his eyes starting in his pale face. Dan stood with one fist drawn back, while Thorne's taunting voice came yet again.

‘You're next— tomorrow!’ he repeated

Jerry saw Relf's palm come over the man's mouth, then the doctor tipped him on to the bed, holding him down.

‘Get my bag, will you?’ he called

Dan obeyed. Jerry remained there, and Thorne relaxed after a few moments. When Dan came back with the doctor's brown portmanteau Relf spoke quietly.

‘Now leave him to me, please ‘

They obeyed, returning to their own room and heard nothing more from Thorne. Dan switched out the light, speaking through the dark.

'Relf will put him right.’

Jerry lay listening, and presently, a long way off, he heard the sound of a racing car's exhaust howling out of the night. It came like a reminder of the race, then was abruptly cut off.

'That's one of Radezza's Maseratis,’ he heard Dan say 'They're over in Ruaudin.'

‘Working all night, from the sound of it,’ Jerry answered.

There was silence again. He heard traffic going through the village, and caught the sounds made by spectators still coming to the course— voices far off, thin shouting, and the noise of cars. The night was sleepless, expectant of the day to come.

A knock sounded on the door and Relf opened it. He remained on the threshold, his face shadowy

‘He's sleeping now,’ he said ‘If he is shaky first thing In the morning I can give him something to pull him round.’ His voice was low. The distant Maserati started up once more, bellowed for a space, and stopped, and the sound that it made was like a snarl, deep and ugly.

‘You're not worrying about to-morrow, Dan?’ Relf asked gently.

‘Not much,’ the driver answered.

Jerry could just see the little doctor peering at him through the dark.

‘It will be all right, Dan,’ he said softly. ‘It's nonsense about the curse.’

Dan did not answer. Jerry heard Relf draw a deep breath, then he spoke once more, his voice very low.

‘God keep you,’ he said, and went out.

7. Dark Horizon

THE MINUTES that remained before the start of the Grand Prix d'Europe were dragging, leaden and slow. There was no wind, and the sun glared from a sky filled with brazen sheen. Some sounds struck above all others in the peculiarly still air— a piping shout, the clatter of a tool, a woman's tones—

coming for an instant from the surging roar which swelled about the starting line.

The noise of the great crowd swelled like some deep, excited voice, concentrated where the grandstand was solid with seated figures, shadowy under the bright-lit flags which drooped at the front of the structure. The main enclosure held a mass of shifting forms behind the ranks of those who pressed close to the fence: spectators had swarmed across the esplanades, their race programmes fluttering constantly, white and shining in the hard sun light.

Twenty machines stood in front of the replenishment pits, awaiting the call to the line. The openings to the pits showed small behind the broad counters, so that the interiors were dim but above these advertisement streamers blazed in a medley of brilliant colours, with taut telephone wires glistening higher still.

Some of the drivers and mechanics remained quietly by their machines, other cars were surrounded by anxious, restless men. Where three red Alfa-Romeos waited, mechanics were in a frenzy of activity and excitement, the drivers bursting occasionally into the explosive comment which tells of strained nerves. Near them were the two white Millers, the 'Babe' Cooper's enormous bulk was planted solidly at the side of his pit, while he rolled a cigarette that he had no intention of smoking. His team-mate, Owens— a hard-featured man whose driving skill had been developed on American dirt tracks— stood at the tail of his car, interested in the active officials and the crowd, looking occasionally at the next pit, which belonged to Equipe Gustave. They had a Bugatti and two Alfa-Romeos, all painted light blue, the Bugatti was the car which Gustave had ditched at Auvergne, and in this race he was handling one of the other cars.

Further along, Radezza's dead-black Maseratis waited, only the silvered number-discs relieving their dullness. Radezza was sucking an orange, as he always did just before a race, and his glance went continually towards Cooper, as if he knew that he had to fear the American and his white machine.

In the centre of the line of depots was a glass-fronted structure which formed headquarters for the conseil d'administration; beyond lay the Ace pits, then those belonging to the Bugatti team, with their machines painted a deeper blue than that of Gustave's stable. Almost at the end of the line were the three Rochelles, also blue, but their colour was much darker: men had been working on them until the cars were brought to the course, and four mechanics were still busy about one machine, cleaning it down.

Jerry was standing on the loose boards which formed the floor at the back of the Ace pit, fastening the wristbands of his overalls: Evelyn was bent before him, securing his ankle straps. He could see copper threads gleaming in her dark hair, while her slender fingers moved deftly until she knotted the tips of the straps into position and looked up enquiringly.

'All right?'

He nodded, and she drew the cool silk of a scarf about his neck, winding it closely, then knotting it and tucking it in beneath his narrow collar.

‘All right?’ she asked again. She smiled, then. She knew better than to talk very much just now, because she could sense his tension and her nerves were almost as strained as his own. When the scarf was set firmly, she raised one hand to his bronzed cheek, cupping it with her palm for a moment, in a caress which told more than anything else could have done, just at that time.

Both turned as they heard Ellison call. He was standing in Martin's section of the long pit, and Dan was ready for the race; he wore his old red shirt with clipped sleeves, oil-smudged trousers and brown, easy shoes, while about his neck was toe black scarf which appeared only on race days. His face was set. and he fumbled with his pipe; it was unlit.

Thorne was near him, immaculate in new white overalls. He was pale, and his face carried a perpetual half smile, the corners of his lips turned down. He held his body limply so that, when ever he shifted, his movements be came exaggerated and swaggering. Dr. Relf stood with Ellison, who spoke slowly as Jerry came up.

‘Relf says that it's likely to rain be fore the race is over,’ he said.

‘And rain heavily,’ the little doctor added. ‘I think we're in for a thunderstorm.’

Jerry knew that Dr. Relf was weather-wise, and that his opinion was of value.

‘You'd better all three take visors,’ Ellison went on. ‘Goggles will be useless, and there'll be plenty of mud if it rains at all hard.’

‘If it rains, we can pull in for them,’ Dan growled. ‘The stop will only cost us a few seconds. We'll leave them all ready adjusted.’

‘Very well,’ Ellison agreed, and glanced at the three in turn. ‘That's understood, then. If you run into rain, come into the pits next time you pass—don't wait for a signal.’

He waved a hand towards the pit counter, where Tad Long stood with a box containing the big visors. They were like transparent, elongated peaks which, however, curved down over the front of the face, only an inch or so from the eyes. When they were splotched with rain, it was still possible to see clearly through them, and they could become obscured only by a mud film thrown from machines ahead.

Jerry adjusted one and passed it to Joe Naylor. The mechanic picked up a potato which had been cut in half and began, very carefully, to rub the wet face of the potato over the outside of the visor; this would make the rain spots merge on it, presenting only a thin film of water.

Dan and Thorne passed their visors over as an official appeared at the front of the pits, calling to Ellison that the cars were to be run out to the road.

'Thank heaven far that!’ Dan muttered. ‘Come on.’

He started to climb over the pit counter, but Ellison checked him, offering his hand.

‘You know what to do. Dan,’ he said. ‘Drive nicely.’

‘Thank you.’ Dan smiled suddenly. He lifted his hand to his linen helmet as be nodded towards Evelyn, then he went over the counter.

‘Jerry, keep well up in the opening laps,’ Ellison went on. ‘Watch Ovens on the second Miller— and ride to signals.’ He shook hands and stepped away. while Jerry turned to Evelyn.

She gave him his driving gloves, and her fingers clung to his as she whispered: ‘Good luck.'' She smiled into his eyes. ‘I'll be hers all the time.’

He followed Dan, leaving Ellison talking to Thorne. Dan's machine was already being pushed away, and, without a backward glance, Jerry followed with his own car, walking beside it, one hand on the steering wheel, while Joe Naylor and another mechanic pushed at the tail.

An official halted the cars clear of the pit area, while Cooper's machine came from it's pit. The music of the loud speakers had stopped, to be replaced by a voice announcing that Cooper had made the fastest practice lap, and had won first place in the line-up.

The American was walking behind his Miller, light-footed in spite of his weight and size. Three mechanics pushed the car, wearing white overalls with blue collars and belts, looking smart and alert beside the narrow bodied, efficient racing machines. The crowd applauded, and Cooper saluted the grandstand, tossing away the crumpled cigarette he had been rolling.

Thorne arrived beside Jerry while the Miller ran up to a short, white line which stood in front of others drawn on the road, then Dan was waved forward, and the loud-speakers began to boom again. He had made the second fastest practice lap, and the spectators craned to view the machine and the man who was to drive it— the man who was leading the Aces, as others had done, and who would drive ominously shadowed by the mystery which overhung these cars from England.

Applause sounded again. Thorne was beckoned on, then Jerry went for ward, hearing his name spoken in French accents through the loud speakers as be helped to push his machine beside the others. The three green Aces stood in a row behind the car from the United States, while one by one, the rest arrived.

Radezza brought his black Maserati into position, and Sezanne's blue Rochelle rolled along side it, forming the next line, then came another row of three machines— Gustave's blue Alfa-Romeo, a team-mate on the equipe's  Bugatti, and then Owens with his white Miller.  Each driver was applauded until, finally, the  machines stood spaced in a broad echelon.

The whole parade had been cleverly timed, and the last car was in place when the starter took position. Only five minutes remained before the actual start, and Jerry, glancing around, saw that hardly any of the drivers were talking to one another as they usually did.

The majority stood by their machines, toying with goggles and gloves: Radezza was tightening the broad belt under his overalls, and 'Babe' Cooper was spinning a coin in the air, catching it as it dropped. It flashed continually up and down, and later Jerry discovered that it was a silver dollar which, just before the start, Cooper pressed into the band of his chief mechanic. He had done that before his first race and it bad become a custom with him now.

Loud speakers checked the passing minutes, and when but two remained, Jerry did behind his wheel, conscious of the sum-warmed upholstery. Cooper's car was being push-started, when he snapped into top gear and called to Joe as he switched on. The Ace rolled forward, gathered way in a few yards. then, when Jerry let up the clutch, the engine fired. He kept it running fast, while Joe and his companion dragged the car back into place as other engines were roused, exhausts crackling, giving off smoke which drifted straight up into the air.

Jerry looked towards the starter when the car was in position, again, and saw the flag lift. Joe and his companion wished them luck, then ran off to the edge of the road, as he sighted Dan leaning back in his cockpit, waving an ungloved hand, not smiling. Jerry responded, and Thorne gestured briefly, then all three adjusted their goggles and remained watching the starter, each with his foot dabbing at the throttle pedal, so that the note of engines rose In quick bursts, duplicated by other machines.

Jerry's hand dropped to the stumpy gear lever, and he snapped it back in the gate as the starting flag switched. He raised his engine revolutions— waited for what seemed an age with the whole car quivering— then sent the machine leaping forwards as the flag dropped.

All three Aces moved on the same instant, while the white Miller in front shot off to a beautiful start, and the rest spurted in unison behind. Instantly the formation of the machines broke up, as, hazed by smoke, they raced at the footbridge which framed the esplanades and the eager crowds and the wide, curving road beyond.

Thorne dropped behind, but Jerry remained level with Dan, both closing on Cooper's machine, and, as the bends came into view, Dan slid past the American. Roaring, nose to tail, they went through the curves; and it was on the turn to the route nationale that the Miller swung wide. Jerry slipped through the corner on the inside, passing. He was second to Dan when they entered the straight, and the pack spilled out of the corner behind, blurred by the rising dust. To spectators at the road side they appealed as a striving cluster of coloured shapes which approached with a rising howl that deepened to a sonorous rushing roar.

Cooper was closing up when the low black shape of Radezza's machine drew past him, came level with Jerry and went by. The Italian drove with his elbows jutting. his hands shifting as he steadied his steering, closing down on Dan when the leader went into Mulsanne corner.

Jerry followed the Maserati. The pine trees which flanked the narrow road beyond the turn made the way seem dark, after the burning sunlight of the straight, and black tree trunks caught the uproar of the cars.

Straightening after Arnage corner Jerry saw a flash of dull blue leap beside him; it was Sezanne's Rochelle coming, it seemed, from nowhere. He raced ahead while the Miller challenged Jerry again, going by before White House turn, pulling  in front as the grandstands came into view, marking the end of the fierce first lap. Dan was leading with Radezza only a few yards behind.  Sezanne was a little further back, with Cooper pulling out to pass him.

Jerry was in rear at these, his machine positioned exactly as it should have been; if he could hold off other cars he would be excellently placed to back Dan up. He knew that, whatever happened Ellison wanted the race to end with an Ace in front of the Rochelles, because be was determined to beat these machines, since they were fighting for his markets.

Jerry let the four pace-makers draw away. As he came into the Mulsanne straight again, he heard a crackling howl and Gustave's blue Alfa-Romeo appeared, overtaking him on his left. Almost in the same moment, one of the red Alfa-Romeos came to his other side with Michele, leader of the Italian team, at the wheel.

Jerry knew that he must keep in front of them, and now began what racing men know as a 'dog-fight,' growing in intensity when Owens brought up the second Miller.

Spectators— strung out in the shadow of trees beside the broad road— watched the four cars flash past, straining for speed. Gustave led when they reached Mulsanne but Jerry was in front again before they braked by the Arnage bends, Gustave and Michele holding him, Owens riding with the nose of his machine planted between their tails.

A skid, the least fault, and all four must have been involved in a completely disastrous crash. Each driver trusted the skill and nerve of the men against whom he gave battle. At Arnage corner, Jerry could not pull over without fouling Gustave's track, and he was forced to swing wide beyond the turn, so that the blue Alfa-Romeo cut inside him and went ahead.

At White House bend the violent hammering of their exhausts echoed from the grey-roofed building before they burst into the grandstand straight, and all the way back to the route nationale the lead constantly changed. Owens was in front down the straight and the pace became still higher.

The wind was tearing past Jerry's ears now, making a thin scream which drowned his engine-note and left him aware only of the challenging blare from Millers open exhaust, spanging three or four yards in front. Jerry had the two Alfa-Romeos on either side of his tail when they slowed for Mulsanne once more, and he could tell from the way in which Owens went down the dip that he would try and hold his lead through the corner— and that meant trouble.

The Alfa-Romeos and the Aces were bred from road-racing; the Miller was a track machine, and its brakes lacked the keenness of the others. Jerry began to brake the moment he dropped from the dip, and he knew that both Gustave and Michele were watching the American, guessing at what might now happen.

The Miller leaped away, veered for the corner, and, at once, skidded. Owens wrenched it straight, only for the car to skid again, wildly now, charging straight at the sandbank. It struck, and the front of the white car vanished in a mass of spurting dust which shot out across the road. Jerry felt it sting his face as he followed into the turn, just missing the Miller's tail, then the car was behind, and the three who were left raced on.

One machine had run off the road, and Jerry knew that there would be others before the race was done. The pace was vicious, and in White House bend he himself came within inches of piling up. Michele took the turn with him, the red car forced closer to the Ace by its speed on the curve, until their spinning wheels all but touched. Somehow, Michele held his car clear, and Jerry released pent up breath as they came roaring out of the bend.

He looked to his pit, staring when he saw a signal waving in the shadow— 'Faster!' Why it was being flown, he did not know, but he obeyed the order and rammed the throttle pedal flat, using power that he had been saving in reserve even during the 'dog-fight.'

Along the Mulsanne straight he brought his revolution counter full across the red slip on the dial, so that the Ace was travelling at the absolute limit of its speed, drawing in front of the pursuing Alfa-Romeos. He was half-way to Mulsanne when, suddenly, his engine lost its power. Michele and Gustave ripped past, exhausts blaring triumphantly back at him, while his machine slowed still more. He drew himself down into the cockpit, where the passing wind no longer dulled his hearing, listening to the sound of the engine; its steady, healthy note had gone, then when he twisted his bead he found the bellow of the exhaust had grown slurred.

The revolutions dropped, and two more machines smashed exultantly past before he cornered at Mulsanne, where the Miller was being pushed away down the escape road, Owens walking beside it. Coming from the turn, the Ace had lost its former acceleration, although it was still fast, and Jerry was desperate as he tried to locate the trouble. He had had difficulty with sparking plugs during practice, and he guessed that they had burnt out again.

In sight of the pits, he lifted his left arm, holding it high and straight as he slowed. He knew that Joe would be watching and would see the signal. He switched off, and the car came to its pit with a rush, brake-shoes sounding harsh and loudly, tyres shrilling. Joe was already over the counter, a big plug-spanner jutting from the pocket of his overalls. He snapped back the bonnet straps, and the engine cover was up before Jerry climbed out, to see Tad Long and Ellison leaning side by side over the counter, Evelyn just beyond them.

'Plugs!' Jerry called to them.

He bent over the engine with Joe. Its brightness was already marred by dust which clung to flecks of oil, and while the mechanic worked to extract one plug, Jerry cleared the ignition leads from the rest. The plug came out, and Joe flicked it to Ellison, who caught its hot shape with hands covered by a cloth. He gave one glance at the electrodes.

'Change them all, Joe!' he shouted.

'Don't' worry, Jerry, we can put you right!'

Machines passed on the road as the two worked, and Jerry forced himself to calmness, trying to match Joe's fast, sure movements. He heard Ellison calling again.

'Dan's holding Radezza. but there's nothing in it so far. They've both lapped at ninety-seven, that's why I told you to open up! Your best was ninety-three—'

Jerry was snatching fresh plugs from the pit counter when he saw Thorne come past, goggled eyes staring. He vanished into the bend at the end of the brief straight, and more cars went through before Jerry was clipping the ignition leads back into place. He jumped for the cockpit as Joe closed and strapped the engine cover.

'Keep going as hard as you can!' Ellison shouted. 'You must pull up. then I'll give you the 'OK!'' Joe ran to the rear of the machine, struggling to get it moving. Evelyn waved as the Ace rolled forward, for the engine suddenly to fire and send the car away with the exhaust note crisp once more.

Jerry touched the peak of his engine revolutions before each gear change, and once he reached the Mulsanne straight— passing a car on the way— he thought of nothing except getting round the circuit as fast as he was able, short of travelling at absolutely full bore. Now he was really racing, taking corners with the car held just short of skidding, placing the machine exactly for every swing of the road.

He forgot Dan and Thorne— forgot everything. His mind became completely occupied with the need for judging distance and speed. He lost all count of the laps that he covered, and as he began to overtake other machines he saw, from the way the cars were handled, that every thing in the race was being hard driven. He became aware of a crash it White House turn and sighted a machine being dragged off the road into a field. There was dirt on the course, torn from one of the low grassy banks, and he saw that the car be longed to Radezza's team.

He knew that he had got to catch and pass Thorne before he could even begin to regain his old position, and he watched for him constantly, hoping that every lap would reveal the green Ace. The sun was now shining almost directly down the straightaway, its light harsh and glaring on the road, so that the shadow or the pine trees on the way to Arnage came as a relief. The cockpit grew very hot, heat from the engine playing about his feet and shins, becoming almost unbearable during the run to Mulsanne, but fading when he shifted position for corners and bends along the remainder of the course.

Halted machines showed how the pace set by Dan and the rest was telling. Jerry saw the Bugatti from Gustave's equipe abandoned just past Arnage. One of the Rochelles remained at its depot for a long time, and he saw a red Alfa-Romeo being pushed off the course. Others were in trouble and then coming down to Mulsanne yet again, he found the sun glare had gone. A dark bank of cloud was creeping across the sky, and he knew that Relf's forecast of rain was proving correct. At once, he thrust he throttle pedal flat, because the threatening storm was equivalent to an 'All Out!' signal. It was vital that he should make up as much distance as possible before the rain came; a wet course would be dangerous, and must inevitably reduce speed.

Next time he came down the straight, the clouds were a little higher in the sky. It was then that he overtook Thorne, closing on him all the way to Arnage, and passing just beyond the corner. Thorne had seen him come up, and he pulled over, glancing at Jerry and grinning as the roar of the two cars merged. He lifted one hand to show that all was well, and Jerry saluted while he went by.

He continued at full throttle, encouraged by the knowledge that Gustave and Michele could not be very far in front now; he had to pass them before he would be back in his old position, and the following lap was the fastest that he had ever made. Joe had a board showing when he came by the pits next time, bearing '97-4;' it meant that the Ace had all but equalled Cooper's record practice lap.

Jerry tried to improve on his speed during the next circuit, coming to Mulsanne so fast that he thought he would be forced into the escape road but desperate use of his brakes slowed the car just enough to enable him to go through the corner. He straightened out, and was racing at full bore towards the Arnage bends when he saw movements in the trees on either hand. Spectators were running in the same direction as his car.

He knew it meant that a machine had gone off the road, and he had no need of the warning which a blue flag gave as he approached the curve which led to the quick turns. He used his brakes, and, coming from the bend, saw the road ahead half blocked by the dark foliage of a fallen pine tree. Men were beside the trunk, pulling and hauling, trying to clear the road and the tyres of the Ace shrilled as Jerry swung the machine to the edge of the course. He was travelling too fast to stop, and his front wheels caught the tips of branches. They slashed along the engine cover, and stung his face before the machine pitched past. He saw debris on the road ahead, with smoke rising from a point halfway to the first bend where fencing was smashed and strewn wide and where a car lay almost upside down. Men were all about it, and the colour of the car was green.

‘Thorne!’ Jerry saw the number of the machine, and his impulse was to stop, but his speed was already carrying him into the bends. He was badly placed for them and skidded, straightened violently, then went on, shaken and startled, wondering how bad the crash had been. The car could not have been doing more than 80 miles an hour when it went off the road, and impact with the tree which had fallen might have thrown Thorne out, so that he escaped serious hurt.

Jerry came down to Mulsanne again, slowing as he approached the curve. The tree had been dragged clear, and only a little smoke now rose from the wrecked car. Spectators were being held back, and he looked for Thorne.

Where straight tree trunks lifted like black columns in the dimness of the wood behind the broken machine, a little group was gathered about a figure in white overalls, stretched on the ground. In a photographic glimpse; which speed sometimes gives, Jerry saw a man rising from near Thorne's head, his hands outspread in a gesture which was eloquent of helplessness, and told that Thorne was dead. Jerry tried to realise the fact as he drove on and when he roared to the stands he placed his Ace at the far side of the road, so that he could see the Scoreboard over the pits. He picked out Thorne's number; he had completed 26 laps— about 220 miles.

That was the same distance as Perrugi and Bill Palmer had covered before they, too, went off the road. Thorne had not been in the lead, otherwise the circumstances seemed the same. All the tragedy and the mystery which had hung over the team had descended again, and Jerry reacted to the knowledge as he came to the Mulsanne straight. In a sudden blaze of anger he bent behind the wheel, handling the car savagely. No matter how little he had liked Thorne, the man had done nothing to deserve this. He had been driving steadily and well, and Jerry remembered his grin when he had passed him a lap or two before the crash; in the same moment, he remembered what Thorne had said about Perrugi the night before. It seemed as if Thorne had been the one to suffer from the curse if the curse had power.

Jerry did not look towards the wrecked car when he passed again, and he skidded at Arnage corner, because his mood made him try to take it too fast. The slide took him on to the grass outside the turn, and the danger of it made him realise that he must keep control of himself. When he came to the pits he saw something which switched all his attention to the race again. Dan was in for replenishment, and Radezza had also stopped, while Cooper's Miller stood beyond them, the big driver refuelling swiftly.

The race leaders had come to the pits together, and spectators in the stand and enclosures opposite were craning to watch each driver striving to snatch some advantage during his halt. The men were working furiously and the fact that they had stopped together showed how closely the race was being fought. Half the distance had been run. and Jerry knew that he him self would be called in soon.

When he came by the pits again, the three had left, but Sezanne was there, and it appeared as though he had only just stopped the Rochelle. Next time Jerry passed, Joe gave him he signal to come in after his next lap. He glanced at the sky above the Mulsanne straight; storm-clouds were almost overhead now, and rain would come very soon.

He drove fast thinking out exactly what he had to do during the halt. He held his speed from White House bend, not using his brakes until ne last moment as he drew towards the pits.

Joe was waiting for him, straddling the spot at which the front of the car should stop. He stood his ground while the machine charged at him, seeming as if it must run him down, yet checking at the last moment, in exact position.

Jerry shouted as he dragged himself up in his seat.

‘Make it a quick stop, Joe!’

He could hardly hear his own voice because he had grown deafened, but the mechanic called some answer, then both were at work, with Tad Long leaning over the counter watching every move they made. Jerry noticed that Ellison and Relf were not there and he had spilled doped fuel from three big churns into the petrol tank before his hearing cleared enough to enable him to catch the foreman's voice.

‘Martin is leading, then Cooper,’ he shouted. ‘Radezza's motor sounded sick when he went by just now, and he's cracking up. Sezanne's next— Gustave and Michele and one of the Bugattis are lying behind him. You're eighth, at the moment.’

The last words came above the clatter of the fourth petrol churn as Jerry crashed it back to the pit counter, snatching the last of the five containers which stood there.

‘Go off with your visor this time!’ Tad called to him.

‘Martin has got his—it'll rain soon!’

The contents of the last churn slung into the big filler-funnel, Jerry tossed it to Tad, then jerked the funnel clear. Petrol dribbled from its tip, the drops flying as he tossed it to the back of the pit, turning to the counter again, just as Joe brought the bonnet clashing down with one hand, flinging the oil jug backwards to the counter with a precise movement, that he had acquired from loner practice.

Evelyn suddenly leaned before Jerry, holding his visor and a filled class. He took the glass, and champagne gushed refreshingly past his lips, surging all about his mouth, because his hand was shaking from driving strain.

Then he heard Joe shout. ‘OK, sir!’

Jerry dropped the glass to the counter. It was still half full, and the champagne spilled from it while hi snatched at his visor.

‘Thank you!’  He spoke hoarsely to Evelyn, but she did not smile. No one was smiling in the pit; all were thinking of Thorne. She caught Jerry's hand, holding it for one moment, then he jumped to the cockpit, calling to Joe.

‘Tyres all right?’

‘Yes. sir!’

The man was at the tail of the car then, pushing as Jerry slid behind the wheel, shifting his gear-lever to top.

‘Joe!’ Jerry strained back, calling, ‘How's Thorne?’

He received no reply, but the mechanic's silence was answer enough. The car rolled forward, the engine fired, and the Ace roared away, with Joe staggering in the faint smoke that it left behind.

Jerry adjusted his visor, remembering the information that Tad had given him. He had to overtake a Bugatti, then he would be up with Michele and Gustave again. He wanted to catch them before the rail fell, if he could.

The sunshine had gone completely now. Black clouds massed in the sky. and the air was filled with a menacing storm-light. In the depths of the clouds was an angry redness, and they were borne on a rising wind, which Jerry could feel along the straightaway. At times it caught the car, forcing it toward the side of the road.

Within another lap the strain of hard driving had settled over him again. Muscles, eased during the halt, began to ache once more, and the heat of the cockpit returned with all its former intensity.

He caught the Bugatti at Mulsanne and the driver slowed with true race courtesy to let Jerry go unhampered into the Arnage bends. In two laps more he came up with Michele's Alfa-Romeo. The Italian had been slowed by a skid at White House, and Jerry was on his tail as they passed the grandstand.

Michele tried to remain in front, but the Ace beat his red machine to the S-bends. Jerry knew that Gustave could not be far in front now, and he cornered fast to the route nationale. Down the straight, he could no longer see the trees at the far end. They were lost in a grey haze that he knew was rain, and, as he shrugged down into his seat for protection, the sky was split by lightning. Its glare made everything gleam— the engine cover, the road, the leaves of the trees that bent as the wind caught them. He heard the rolling crash of thunder above the noise of his machine, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel as he held his car towards the screen of rain that rushed to meet him.

Immediately ahead, the road was dry, but he saw the line where It be came wet and he eased his throttle as rain burst into his face. His visor became momentarily blurred but, at once, the raindrops merged and the water smoothed out so that he could see spectators running for shelter. He told himself that he must take the Mulsanne corner cautiously; rain would make it slippery and treacherous, and the road was certain to be dangerous from dropped oil. When he used his brakes, the Ace started to slide, flinging almost broadside; he went through the turn with the tail still wagging, and when he opened up on the road beyond he pitched into another skid. It seemed to him that the car slid from one side of the road to the other all the way down to the spot where Thorne had crashed. Water swilled in smooth sheets between the bends, and crowds at Arnage corner were taking shelter under nearby trees, risking the lightning which constantly split the sky.

Everything was dulled by rain, and White House turn was awash. Jerry saw warning flags waving there, held by drenched officials; in the bend beyond, a machine had skidded across a low bank on to the grass, and its radiator was rammed against a broken fence. Jerry recognised the car as an Alfa-Romeo, and he saw the driver climbing out. It was Gustave. His head was bent to the driving rain, while men were stumbling towards him, their clothing made dark by falling water.

The blue machine was out of the race, which left only Dan and Cooper ahead, with Sezanne and Radezza. Jerry saw the Italian and his black car immediately afterwards, pulled up at the pits. The driver and his mechanic were working on the engine. Rain drops were dancing from the uplifted bonnet, and Radezza was holding his bent arm over his head, as if to protect him self from the downpour. The stands and the depots swept behind. Jerry was cautious in the S bends, and even more careful on the turn to the route nationale. He was forced to cut down his speed alone the straight. When he opened the throttle, the machine tried to snake: this would last for a lap or two, until the slippery film which covered the road surface had been washed away.

The rain soaked through his overalls, chilling him after the heat in which he had been driving. He could not see far along the road ahead, and it was like driving through mist. In three laps more, he was able to open wide down the Mulsanne straight, tyres gripping cleanly, flinging a long spume of water behind. He overtook a machine here, and the back-wash slashed across his visor, obscuring it The car was a Rochelle, making such good speed that Jerry knew he must pass it now or remain in rear until he had a chance to get beyond the Arnage corner. He pulled to the side of the road, leaning outwards so that the rain swiftly washed his visor clean, and he drew in front just before they reached Mulsanne corner. Next time he came up with another machine, he was careful to keep over to the side of the road, doing his utmost to shield his visor until he could go past.

Driving was dangerous now. He dared not use the power of his engine to kick the machine straight if it slid in the entry to a curve; that only aggravated the skid. Every shallow puddle broke in a great wave from his wheels. Rain dribbled down his soaked overalls, collecting in his seat, and when he looked into the cockpit he saw water flooding there before it found a way to the drain-holes.

For a long time the rain showed no sign of abating. Water cascaded from the roofs of the pits from which, after passing Gustave and Radezza, Jerry took an ‘OK!’ signal. The esplanades had emptied, and the course looked deserted except that, wherever there was shelter, close-packed crowds watched the cars pass. The wreckage of Thorne's car remained abandoned by the broken tree. Machines which had halted in the race stood shining under the rain. Gustave's car had been left by the fence, and Radezza's disappeared, retired from the race.

If the rain slowed those who were left, Jerry guessed that Sezanne was taking full advantage of it. The Rochelle driver was one of the few men to whom a wet course seemed to make no difference, and it was more than likely that he was pressing Dan and Cooper hard. This was in Jerry's mind when he passed the pits again, acknowledging the ‘OK.’ signal.’ which was being shown to him on every second lap.

He took the long curve past the footbridge close in and steadily, to find warning flags waving all the way between the S bends and the route nationale. Crowds had rushed to the fencing by the corner, and as Jerry took the turn he saw Dan's machine rammed against, the red sandbank at the far side, and across the wet surface of the road were the broad marks of a skid. Dan was beside the car, digging at the sand with his hands, working furiously, trying to free the machine. He glanced up as he recognised the sound of Jerry's Ace. straightening for an instant, and waving him on.

Jerry could not signal in response, because he had to hold his car in the turn, but the roar of his exhaust, as he opened flat out, gave Dan his reply. Jerry guessed that the team leader must have been balked in some way at the corner, and that was why he had skidded. Whatever had happened, he himself had now to do his utmost to catch Cooper and Sezanne, and he kept his foot hard down along the straight his leg straining as he sat braced, his hands tense on the wheel, ready to check the least deviation from the course that he set. knowing that he would never be able to hold the car if some bump on the surface sent the machine into a slide at high speed. He altered his cornering method now, braking earlier, using a deliberate half-skid to help the car round at Mulsanne, repeating the tactics at Arnage, and gaining the fraction of a second each time.

The black clouds began to draw away, and the heavy rain passed. At the pits, the ‘Faster!’ signal was flying, and Joe leaned out with a board bearing Cooper's number, which mean that he was immediately ahead, and that the Rochelle was leading the race. When Jerry came to the corner after the S-bends, the Ace had gone. Dan was in the race again, but Jerry had no means of telling how much he had been delayed, or how far he was behind. All he could do was to drive on —and drive fast.

He watched, all the time, for the white car, and saw a signal flying from the American's depot; he guessed that it was Cooper's ‘All Out!’ order.

Jerry had no idea of how many laps there were still to cover, but he knew that the race must be nearing its end. He handled his machine with all the ability that he possessed, forgetting the discomfort in which he travelled, al though the cockpit grew hot again, his shoulders became numbed, and the muscles of his forearms ached.

He saw a second board shown at his pit. Evelyn was holding it, and chalked figures indicated that he was fifteen seconds behind the American. The Ace required three laps to narrow the gap represented by that time, then Jerry saw the white car as he went towards the Arnage bends. It vanished, but he sighted it along the straight to White House, and he was not a hundred yards behind when they ran past the pits. The tail of the Miller was black from mud, and its rear wheels flung back a curving stream of spray. Jerry gained a little before they reached the Tours highway, and he matched ‘Babe’ Cooper's pace down the broad straight, but only by lifting his revolution counter needle full across its red slip.

He closed up on the approach to Mulsanne corner, but he was still behind when they came to the pits again, and now Jerry saw no boards and no signals— only arms that waved him on with gestures that were urgent and eager. The rain had almost ceased, and a gleam of sunlight came during the run through the S-bends. He travelled in the wash from the Miller, still trying to pass when they entered the straight.

The machines were close when, passing the whitewashed tree-trunks, both drivers saw— dim in a haze of flying mud and water— a car which was moving as fast as their own. The sun, coming a little more strongly, picked out a flash of dull blue. ‘Sezanne!’ Jerry spoke the name into the wind that tore past his face, and he strained to force more power from his engine. The Miller was faster along the broad road, and it drew away from him, although the Ace was still very close to its tail when they cornered amongst the trees at Mulsanne, both perceptibly nearer the Rochelle.

Jerry's brain had cleared. He was sitting close against his wheel, alert and intent, and he fought Cooper for every corner. Twice he all but passed, but each time the American slid in front as they left the turn behind.

The Miller was being driven desperately, and for two laps they struggled, while the sun came out and the rain stopped completely, and the road was beginning to dry when they caught Sezanne just near the grandstand. The dark blue Rochelle held, them back until they were cornering on to the long straight, then Cooper managed to pass and Jerry was left watching for a chance to go by.

The Rochelle was unsteady down the straight. Sezanne was driving the car at its limit, and when Jerry tried to pass he was balked by the lurching of the machine. Sezanne dared not go too closely to the road edge, and Jerry was balked all the way to Mulsanne, Cooper gaining ground, leaving them both behind.

Over the rest of the lap the Rochelle was as fast as the Ace, and it was when they came to the stands once again that Jerry understood why Sezanne was handling his car so furiously. An official was standing by the roadside, holding a flag which swept down as the two came up, not ten yards apart. It was a signal that they were entering the last lap. Men were standing on the counter of the Ace pit. their arms sweeping Jerry on. He drew wide through the curve under the footbridge, trying to get by the blue machine, but he was still be hind it at the S-bends.

The Rochelle's acceleration kept Sezanne In front, and on the corner to the route nationale, Jerry tried again to pass, but Sezanne cut the turn, remaining ahead. When the straight opened up, Jerry pulled close to the road edge. The Rochelle swayed again on the road, dangerous and unsafe, and somehow Sezanne found enough speed to hold the green machine as it came level.

The Frenchman was intent behind the wheel, fighting to keep the car under control and prevent it lurching off the road, so that the two ran wheel to wheel, the blue machine yielding nothing all the way to Mulsanne. Jerry could not take the corner beside the blue car, but he saw that from the speed at which they approached it the Rochelle would be carried wide. They approached with a tremendous rush, forcing Sezanne to skid, tyres shrilling. Jerry forced his machine into the turn, and felt its tail slide out. There was a long-drawn moment in which he thought he would hit the Rochelle, then he came straight, almost touching the stones set on the inside of the corner, roaring safely through, Sezanne all but stopped behind.

Jerry forgot him instantly. The white Miller was just disappearing into the curve down the tree-darkened road, and the Ace bellowed as the throttle was stamped open, rear wheels spinning for an instant before it leaped out of the turn. The crowds, which had come again to the fences by the Arnage bends, jumped back when they saw the green machine plunge towards them, and Jerry had to fight the car to bring it safely through.

He took the Arnage corner with tyres tearing at the road, and he was closer to the Miller as he roared on, but he knew that he could not catch it now. For all that, he went through White House turn at full bore, with Cooper moving flat out before him, and as the short straight to the stands opened up, Jerry  saw the chequered finishing flag at the roadside.

It came down when the Miller passed, marking ‘Babe’ Cooper as winner of the Grand Prix d'Europe. It lifted, and fell again when Jerry went by, and he heard the plaudits of the crowd. The Ace slowed, and he brought the car behind the Miller as both began a complementary lap.

The crowds on the soaked esplanades applauded, and down the Mulsanne straight Cooper turned an his cockpit, smiling and gesturing while he looked back. Jerry waved to him, twisting when he heard a roar behind, and saw Dan coming up, pulling level, leaning from the cockpit as he dragged his visor clear. His face was dark from mud that had dried there, and he shouted. ‘Sezanne just pipped me. Did you get home?’

‘Second to Cooper!’ Jerry answered.

‘Tough luck!’ Dan smiled, waved his hand, then fell away as the blue Rochelle came up, slipping in at Jerry's tail. The four rolled on, taking the order in which they had finished, slashed with mud, racked and race-worn.

Jerry, removing his visor was conscious of a mask of grime on the lower part of his face, while his right sleeve was mired to the shoulder and his overalls were still wet and clinging. He was tired and bruised, wishing that the race had lasted a few laps longer, when he might have passed the Miller; not because he wanted to rob 'Babe' Cooper of his victory, not because he wanted the applause and the flowers which awaited the Miller at the grandstand, but because winning might have done some thing to overshadow the tragedy which had come to the team again.

They rolled on, with the crowds applauding as the machines went by,  passing cars which had fallen out of the race, passing the place where Thorne had died.

Jerry looked at the forlorn, battered shape of the wrecked machine as it lay in the shadow, and it seemed to him that Thorne had been right when he had said that Perrugi's curse would affect the race. Only Thorne could not have guessed that it would react upon himself.

8. He That Outlives This Day

MORE THAN forty-eight hours had passed since the cars bad come home in the Grand Prix d'Europe. It was evening, and mechanics were loading lorries in the courtyard of the farm house in Mulsanne. By midnight, the Ace camp would have broken up, and with the departure of men and machines, the last trace of the race would vanish from the village.

Ellison was seated by the window seat of the big room in which meals were served at the French farm house. Bags and suitcases were piled on the red-tiled floor, and Dan Martin was pulling tight the straps about his bulging hold-all. Jerry stood by the table with Dr. Relf, who had brought from Le Mans a collection of newspapers, which contained pictures of the race.

The doctor had also seemed a number of photographs, and Jerry was looking through them in the hope of finding one which would show Thorne's car actually crashing. He discovered none, because no photographer had been near the scene.

Investigation had not revealed the cause of Thorne's smash. Eye-witnesses testified that he appeared to be handling the car a little uncertainly as he came through the bend, then he had simply driven off the road. The machine had hit the tree which Jerry had almost fouled, the impact pulling Thorne's car around, so that it slid between other trees, and it had suffered comparatively little damage— one front wheel had broken off at the stub axle, the frame was bent and the rear axle torn partly away, but the engine was untouched.

Ellison's broad figure was dark against the square panes, and his face was shadowed. He had said nothing since entering the room, and Dan was watching him, looking from below drooping eyelids, when Ellison's voice sounded suddenly. He came directly to the point, as he always did. and his tone was deliberate.

‘You drove a fine race, Jerry, but I'm afraid it hasn't done us very much good,’ he said.

They looked at him, Dan sitting down on the pile of luggage, dragging out his pipe and starting to fill it. ‘'Babe' Cooper came across the Atlantic to win, and he did win. That overshadows the fact that we took second and fourth places in the race.’

He was silent for a few moments, then continued quietly. ‘In fact, people are talking about only two things: Cooper's win and Thorne's crash and the other crashes that we've had.’

‘And, once again, there is no tangible reason for the car having gone off the road,’ Dr. Relf commented.

‘Except what Thorne told us the night before the race—about Perrugi's curse,’ Jerry said slowly.

‘You don't believe in that!’ Ellison exclaimed, and his voice came grimly from his shadowed face.

‘I don't think any of us take that seriously. It's more likely that there is something wrong with the machines I've designed— some mysterious defect'‘ He came from the window seat, facing them, his tone low. ‘It would upset me pretty badly If that were true,’ he added.

No one answered. If, ultimately, some hidden fault in the cars did be come apparent, the lives of all four men who had died would then be Ellison's responsibility. During the silence, Dan lit his pipe, and sent smoke clouds climbing on the still air.

‘It isn't the machines,’ he said. '‘I'm sure of it, and so is Jerry. I think we've proved that for you!’

‘I believe you have,’ Ellison agreed. ‘Anyhow, all this adverse publicity is doing Ace cars no good, and I've got to counteract it. I began racing because I've always wanted to do it, and because of the Rochelles. They were hitting my markets badly, and it was essential to prove that mine is a better car. Well, I haven't done it, and these crashes are having a very serious effect on sales.

‘I've made up my mind about some thing,’ he went on, and his voice was still deliberate and slow. ‘We're entered for the French Grand Prix— at Reims.’ he added. ‘'I wish I could drive there, but I know that am too old.’

‘You can count on me again, anyway,’ Dan said.

‘And on me,’ Jerry added. ‘But you'll need another driver now.’

‘It will probably be young Kenneth Vaughan. Do you know him?’ Ellison asked.

‘Not personally,’ and Jerry glanced at Dan. who shook his head. ‘He's been doing a good deal of road work,’ Ellison explained. ‘He's a real amateur driver, and he ran in the Grand Prix de la Marne at Reims last year. He had a Bugatti at Chimay, and he has run at Dieppe. I've fixed nothing definitely, but he'd be a very useful third man.’

He came to the table, and frowned at the pictures of Thorne's wrecked car before he went on. ‘As I can't race one of my own machines, I'm going to make what I think will be a supreme test of their design, and I'm going to conduct that test myself.’

He looked at the drivers in turn. They met his glance, but Dr. Relf was gazing at the photographs, although his attitude showed that he was listening intently. ‘I'm going to put a car on the concrete at Montlhery for an attempt on the world's hour record— and I shall drive it myself!’ Ellison said.

His words startled Dan, who drew his pipe from between his lips and stood staring. ‘You can't do that!’ he exclaimed. ‘It's the toughest record there is!’

‘That's why I intend mating the attempt,’ Ellison replied. His lips curved in a slow smile, as if he appreciated their surprise. The hour record was the most difficult for which any machine could run, because the car had to maintain its absolute maximum speed for a full 60 minutes, and the man who drove it needed to be in magnificent physical condition, capable of matching the effort made by the car. The strain on the machine would be so great that any hidden defect must be revealed, shown up under the continuous stress of coming off and remounting the great bankings of the French track.

The disclosure of such a fault would, as all knew, mean certain death for Ellison. ‘I want to show that I'm not afraid of my cars and you haven't heard the whole of it yet.’

He smiled again. 'I'm going to drive the machine on which Thorne crashed!’

Dr. Relf gazed at him in amazement. The other two stood motionless, too astonished to make any comment.

‘The machine can be repaired,’ Ellison's deliberate voice went on. ‘That car has killed a man, so I'm going to sit in the driving seat and find out what it will do to me.’

He moved to the door, pausing. 'I'm arranging to have everything at the Boulevarde de la Gare by midnight,’ he added, and his tone had grown casual again. ‘The train leaves at two o'clock. Lorries will meet us at Dover, and we ought to be back at the works late tomorrow afternoon.’ The door closed behind him.

‘The hour record—on Thorne's car,’ Dr. Relf murmured, and ran a hand over his gray hair. ‘I don't like the sound of that.’

‘It's just the sort of thing he would decide,’ Dan said angrily, ‘and, from the way he spoke. I don't think it's possible to talk him out of it.’

‘He's strong, but holding a fast machine on Montlhery for an hour will take a lot out of him,’ Jerry added.

‘Take a lot out of him!’ Dan repeated, his voice rising.

He turned away, striding across the room before he came back to the table and spoke savagely. ‘He'll have to fight over every yard that he travels. The record stands at about a hundred and thirty-five, and he'll have to lap at very nearly the limit of the track's speed to break it.’ He jabbed his pipe-stem between gritted teeth and spoke past it. ‘He'll be riding up at the top of the banking all the damn time! Why, I'd think twice before I took on a job like that.’

‘But the speed shouldn't be difficult to achieve,'' Dr. Relf said. ‘The cars can do more than a hundred and fifty miles an hour on the road.’

‘A short burst down a straight isn't the same thing,’ Jerry answered.

‘When we're driving, we just touch a speed like that, and drop down almost at once,’ Dan added impatiently. ‘Ellison will have to hold it all the time— he'll actually have to cover nearly a hundred and forty miles inside sixty minutes. Hell have to do that distance— every mile of it— in one hour!’ he said emphatically. ‘Now do you understand?’

‘It will be— dangerous,’ the little doctor admitted. He stood looking at them, now appreciating their concern. Dan stepped to the window, staring out, scowling.

‘If he wants the test made. I'll offer to drive for him,’ Jerry suggested.

‘He won't let either of us.’ Dan said. ‘He'll go through with it. I know Ellison, and he must have been thinking about it for some time— his mind is made up, take it from me.’

He drew a long breath, then turned to the pile of luggage. ‘Well, we'll learn more about it later. In the meantime, we've got to find room on the lorry for all this kit.’

Jerry helped him out with the bags, while Relf remained looking down at the photographs which showed the wreckage of the car that Ellison intended to recondition and to drive.

He shook his head slowly, and his rosy features carried an expression of regret.

‘I don't like it.’ Jerry heard him say. ‘I don't like it at all.’

The luggage was stowed away, and the lorries went off, running fast to Le Mans because they had still to return for the racing cars. Dan took charge of things at the farmhouse, while Ellison drove into the town to attend to matters at the railway station.

Jerry had arranged to dine in Le Mans with Evelyn, afterwards joining the team at the Boulevarde de la Gare. He said good-bye to the farmer and his wife, distributed ten-franc notes amongst those who had helped to make things pleasant for him, then walked down the village, to meet Evelyn at the wheel of her father's car; the back was filled with baggage, and it was evident that he had closed down his temporary headquarters.

She slipped into the passenger's seat and Jerry drove the car on along the road to Le Mans. As they passed Mulsanne corner, running on to the race circuit, they looked back along the Arnage road towards the pine trees which shrouded the spot where Thorne had crashed. Jerry lifted one hand from the wheel in a little salute, and was silent as he drove on, soon to pass the esplanades which were empty and deserted, although the ground was littered with paper and programmes.

‘So long to the Sarthe circuit,’ he commented, as they drove clear of the course, and the car rolled down the road to Le Mans, its lights glimmering in the dusk.

‘It was a fine race, Jerry. You might have won if you hadn't been forced to change plugs.’

‘That stop made no difference.’ Jerry answered. ‘I was riding to signals and taking the 'OK' long before the finish. Cooper deserved to win, but I'm glad I passed Sezanne's Rochelle— and that fellow's got real nerve. It was as much as he could do to hold his car along the straight. But he did hold it, and he'll try and get his revenge when we run at Reims.’

‘I heard Mr. Ellison say that he was going through with his engagements,’ Evelyn's voice came quietly. ‘He thinks it will be a still faster race.’

‘It will,’ Jerry agreed. ‘The lap record stands at about ninety-seven miles an hour. Nobody touched the hundred here, but they'll do it At Reims. Dan knows the circuit, but I don't, although I think we're going to have a Number Three driver who does—Kenneth Vaughan.’

‘Vaughan?’ Evelyn looked at him quickly. ‘Is he coming into the team?’

Jerry nodded.

‘You'll like him,’ she added, ‘He's very keen, and he's a fine driver. We always supply his tyres; that's how I came to know him.’

She glanced at him again, her expression questioning as she went on. ‘Mr. Ellison came in this afternoon, to arrange about some special tyres,’ she said. ‘He wants them because he's going to try for the hour record.’

‘But I don't suppose he told you that he's going to make the attempt himself— and use Thorne’s car!’

Her surprise was evident. She asked him for details as they drove on, and she appreciated the danger that Ellison would be facing.

‘If there's anything wrong with that machine, it will certainly show,’ she said, and her tone dropped a little.

‘Can t you see what's in hi mind? if there is something faulty in the design, Ellison feels that— he ought to pay, and he’ll follow Perrugi and Thorne and the rest,’ she said.

‘I see what you mean.’ Jerry glanced at her, and smiled suddenly. ‘But if the car stands us to it and if he does break the record, he'll break it wide open!’

They were crossing the square at the bottom of the hill then, and there was little chance for conversation as the car negotiated tram lines that ran towards the centre of the town.

They dined in the Avenue Thiers, and Jerry learned that Evelyn was driving to Paris that night, before returning to England. ‘We're leaving here at nine o'clock, and we ought to be in Paris by midnight,’ she said. ‘I may see you again before the Reims race, and we shall most certainly be at Montlhery for the record attempt.’ She laughed a little. ‘But we don't get a great deal of time together, do we, Jerry?’

The red-tinted light from a table lamp caught her face, and be reached across the table to touch her hand.

‘It isn't so bad. After all, when we do have some time to ourselves, it's always—’ he paused,

‘—in some place that is a little romantic?' she asked. ‘It isn't so bad here, is it?’

They laughed together, while she sat back and looked at him, her gaze level. She knew how much he loved her, and even if their courtship was very disconnected, it made moments like this so much more pleasing. She might see him next at the Ace works, after that it would be in Paris, and then at Reims, where new buildings had risen above the ruins of those shattered in the war. As the French Grand Prix was almost the last event of the season, winter would soon follow, when Jerry would not be racing.

Perhaps, by the time that the season came round again, there would be no need for them ever to part.

‘Jerry,’ she said suddenly, ‘you'll be friendly to Kenneth Vaughan, won't you? And just mention to him that you're a— a friend of mine.’

He looked at her inquiringly, and she smiled as she read his thoughts.

‘Yes. he is very good looking,’ she admitted: her eyes were shining and, her glance was wise. ‘But we're no more than really good friends. Do you mind that?’ She chuckled and, for some reason Jerry felt unusually elated at her words.

They parted happily, after meeting her father. Jerry watched the car driven away along the road that ran through Chartres on to Paris.

He remembered what she had said about Kenneth Vaughan, and, a week after the return of the machines from Le Mans he found that Evelyn had not overrated the qualities of the new driver. Ellison brought him to the works at a time when mechanics were reconditioning the team cars. Dan and Jerry were to drive the machines they had used before, and Vaughan was to handle the car with which Thorne had hit the fence during practice.

He was slim, dark-haired, with excellent, balanced features and a ready smile. He looked over the chassis of his machine, spending an hour studying it, then Ellison took him to see a model which had been built of the record-breaker, since the car itself was stripped down. The contour of the body had been settled after wind-tunnel tests, and the model showed a machine with a heavily cowled radiator, from which the lines of the body swept smoothly, ending in a long tail. There were streamlined fairings for the wheels, while steering and brake mechanism was completely enclosed. Even in model form the car looked shapely, promising very high speed.

‘I'm planning, if everything goes well, to make the attempt a day before we're due at Rheims,’ Ellison said. ‘We shall take the team machines with us to Montlhery, and they'll go straight to the course after the record run.’

Dan and Jerry came to know the new driver well in the days that followed. As Evelyn had said, he was very keen, and it was easy to see that he had considerable admiration for Dan, but it was to Jerry that he talked most.

He mentioned that he had offered to drive in Thorne's place at Le Mans.

‘That was before he asked Thorne,’ Vaughan added, ‘only I couldn't get away for the race. I was very disappointed then—but I'm not sorry now.’

That was the nearest he came to making any reference to the crashes in the team, and he went on before Jerry could reply, ‘I expect Miss Fraser told you that my people are not exactly poor, and they've insisted that I have some object in life, other than cars. So I'm trying to make myself into a good medical man.’

‘A doctor?’ Jerry asked, and Vaughan smiled.  ‘I'm specialising a bit. I find work hard at this time of the year, but it isn't so bad in the winter when there isn't any racing. I get right down to the job then.’

‘You'll have a lot in common with Dr. Relf, when you meet,’ Jerry suggested.

‘I know about him,’ Vaughan replied. ‘He lives most of his time in France, doesn't he? I doubt if he'll think much of me.’ Be smiled ruefully. ‘He used to be a very hard worker, before he retired, and he may think that I don't take his profession seriously. I do, of course, only I arrange myself a little time off now and again!’

As his car drew nearer to completion, Vaughan became very particular about his seating position. He liked to sit bolt upright, and very close to the wheel; the scuttle fairing had to be raised to shoot air past his head, and he had the body sides cut away deeply.  He produced his own padding for the  cockpit, fixing it in position himself, and he spent a great deal of time in learning details of the engine and chassis, and in discussing with Jerry and Dan and the mechanics the best way in which to clip seconds out of a pit stops.

The days slid swiftly past, and the racing cars were near completion when Ellison accompanied his special car across the Channel for preliminary tests at Montlhery. He had planned a very close schedule, and arranged for the team to  follow him to the track, which lay just outside Paris, arriving the day before that fixed for his own effort. Lorries were to take the cars to Dover, with their crates of spare parts, and cross by cargo boat; the machines would not be unloaded at Montlhery, but would wait there until the record attempt was concluded. The run might reveal knowledge in the light of which he could not permit the cars to race at Rheims. He hoped that it would not be so, but there remained the possibility.

WHILE the racing machines were, as a precaution, being run in at Brooklands, messages from Ellison showed that all was going well, and the cars left England according to schedule.  The following morning Jerry and Dan followed them, accompanied by Vaughan, the fast machine which they used making good time to Paris, running straight through the city down the Orleans road to Linas-Montlhery.

Jerry was conscious of some expectation when they came in sight of the high ridge on which the French track was set, some fifteen miles south of Paris, because he knew that Evelyn would be there. Soon the car was climbing between the high, yellow-tinged banks through which the steep road to the course had been cut, swinging past a gate to garages built under the track itself. It was late in the afternoon then.

Ellison's car had evidently just come off the track, and a little crowd stood about it; near at hand, the lorries which had the racing machines were parked. The men who had accompanied them were gathered about Tad Long and the mechanics who had been working on Ellison's machine. Dan swung the car to a stop beside the lorries, and Jerry saw Evelyn coming away from the crowd. He hurried to meet her.

‘I've been watching out for you,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine!’ He felt the pressure of her fingers as he caught her hands. ‘How : are things here?’

‘The car's been on the track this afternoon, and everything is just as right as It can possibly be. We brought the tyres up this morning, and there's no more work to do on the car. Mr. Ellison says that he'd make the attempt right away, only the timekeepers won't be here until early tomorrow morning.’

She jerked on his hands, laughing a little as she looked up at him. ‘Jerry, don't you think it would be a very good idea to ask me how I am? —and forget about the car for a little while?’

‘Sorry!’ He laughed with her as they moved to where Ellison's car stood. Its smooth cellulose was marred a little by dust from the track, while grit, kicked up by the rear wheels, had scored the underside of the tail. Its sleek lines suggested purpose and power but beneath the special body, which had been built for record work, it was no different from the cars that were to run at Reims. It had been given treatment that should enable it to produce a sustained maximum speed, and all inessentials had been stripped away; beyond this, the machine was a duplicate of the racing cars.

Ellison was talking to Dan and Vaughan. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watchful and emotionless. He looked very fit, his cheeks lashed to ruddiness by the speed at which he had been travelling before the drivers arrived.

‘I've not pressed the car at all,’ he said when Jerry shook hands with him.  ‘We had a little carburetion trouble, but nothing very much, and everything is in good trim now. I'll be making the attempt at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. And I think well get the record— if all goes well.’

There was significance In his last words, and Jerry saw Vaughan look at him sharply. As he glanced away, the new driver saw Evelyn. He left Ellison to greet her warmly, walking at her side as she moved from the little crowd by the car. Jerry remained speaking with Ellison until he heard Vaughan call, and saw him beckoning.

When he approached, Vaughan was smiling oddly.

‘I want to talk about something,’ he said. ‘I've left it until we met Miss Fraser, and I haven't cared to speak about it so far. I thought that the subject might be forbidden, as it were,’ he added. ‘But Miss Fraser tells me that it isn't.’

‘You want to know something about what happened to Thorne, and the others?’ Jerry asked, guessing at his meaning.

‘Isn't that natural?’ Evelyn commented. ‘Haven't you said anything at all, Jerry?’

‘I never asked,’ Vaughan broke in, and they moved towards a bench set in the shadow of trees a little distance away. ‘And I've never been able to get any first-hand information.’

‘I don't think we know much more than you,’ Jerry said. They reached the bench, and Vaughan stretched out his legs, frowning to where the concrete supports of the track rose stiffly in front,  like grey and petrified trees.

‘I was interested as soon as I knew there was a chance of my joining the team,’ he went on, ‘It seems a very queer business, to me.’

His easy smile had gone, and his eyes were narrowed under his dark brows. ‘Only I don't want you to imagine, that I'm scared, or anything of that sort, I'm just interested— if you can believe that.’

He listened while Jerry told him what he knew of Perrugi's crash, and what had occurred to Tim Duggan. He described what he had seen at Chatillon corner, and spoke of the photograph which Evelyn had discovered of the smash. Occasionally Vaughan made some comment.

‘Have you still got that photograph of Palmer's crash?’ he asked presently.

‘It's in my luggage,’ Evelyn answered. 'I'll bring it along tomorrow.’

‘I'd like to see it.’ He looked to where men were now pushing Ellison's car into its garage. ‘I wonder if there is surprise on his face, or if it's only a trick of the photograph.’

‘It's a very clear picture,’ Jerry assured him. As they talked, it became evident that Vaughan knew a great deal of what had occurred. He admitted that he had listened to the mechanics at the works, and that Tad Long had told him things at various times. He put direct and probing questions which made clear not only that he had given considerable thought to it all, but that his attitude was almost analytical.

‘I've guessed why Ellison is making this attempt tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If anything happens to him, we shan't race at Reims. If the worst does occur, then the whole matter will be plain— we will know that the crashes were due to defective design. But I wonder If—’ He broke off, glancing from Evelyn to Jerry. ‘I wonder if you've considered a perfectly logical conclusion to which one might come, supposing that Ellison breaks the record and pulls safely off the track.’

Again he looked at them in turn ‘You see, if the car is sound, the only apparent reason that remains for the crashes is what you call Perrugi's curse,’ he said.

‘Frankly, I should discount that, I don't think there's any thing in it at all.’

‘You might be inclined to believe in it, if you'd seen what I've seen,’ Jerry said quickly.

‘Yes?’ Vaughan smiled. ‘But only because it appears to be the sole remaining explanation. Can you say that you believe Perrugi's influence to be the sole cause of what's happened? Honestly, now!’

‘No, I can't,’ Jerry admitted. ‘Well, then what's left?’

Vaughan's manner had grown intent. ‘You believe the machines are safe. Suppose Ellison proves it tomorrow? You must admit that he will if he gets the record.’ He paused. ‘What's left?’ he repeated.

‘I don’t know,’ Evelyn said. ‘What is left?’

‘It's very simple,’ Vaughan answered. ‘And it's rather terrible, too. You've lost four men, and if Ellison's test goes all right the only possible conclusion to which you can come is—’ Again he broke off.

‘Well?’ Jerry asked.

‘—Is that someone is committing deliberate murder!’ Vaughan ended.

Evelyn caught her breath. Her lips parted, and some of the colour left her cheek. Jerry sat up, staring.

‘That's going a bit far, isn't it?’

‘I wonder, if it is, Jerry,’ Evelyn broke In. ‘I've told you that, all along, I've had a feeling that there's something wicked and cruel behind all this.’

‘But there's no reason for it!’ Jerry exclaimed. ‘How could it be done? Who is it?’ He smiled. ‘I think you're stretching your imagination, Vaughan.’

‘Perhaps I am,’ came the reply. ‘I'm sorry if I've startled you, Miss Fraser. I was only trying to be logical, and you must confess that there's something in it.’

‘I hope not,’ she breathed.

‘So do I,’ Vaughan agreed. ‘Any how, I should like to see that photograph you've got, because what you say about Palmer's expression is a little unusual. I mean, if I found my car going off the road at a hundred and twenty miles an hour, I can assure you that my expression would be one of complete funk— not surprise!’

‘You'll see the picture for yourself,’ Jerry said. ‘I don't know whether it has anything to do with it, but another thing is how surprised Thorne was when he piled up during practice. Although, I've an idea that was only assumed, to disguise his faulty driving.’

‘He was that sort of man,’ Vaughan smiled. ‘I knew him slightly. I suppose there aren't photographs of the other crashes?’

‘There is one taken when Tim Duggan wrecked his car,’ Evelyn said. ‘Tad Long has been trying to get hold of it, and he'll tell me as soon as it comes.’

'I'd like to see it,’ Vaughan told her, and frowned as he stretched out his legs again, staring at his shoes. 'Harking back a bit,’ he said slowly, ‘isn't it rather striking that the cars had covered practically the same distance each time, before they left the road?’

‘We'd thought of that,’ Jerry replied. ‘Of course, but wondered if there might be something on the machines which breaks down after they've covered a certain number of miles.’

‘If there is, we shall soon know about it,’ and Jerry spoke a little curtly. ‘Ellison wont travel so far in the hour as the cars did in their race, but his machine will be under a much greater strain all the time. The effect will be about the same.’

Their conversation ended as the neatly dressed figure of Dr. Relf appeared from the garage into which Ellison had gone. He approached as soon as he saw them, and his smile was kindly when he was introduced to Vaughan.

Soon he was talking directly to him, asking about his old acquaintances in London. In a little while, he was putting questions which gave him some idea of the work that Vaughan was doing, and it was evident that Relf was agreeably surprised,  and definitely impressed.

‘You're doing remarkably well, my boy! I had an idea that you would prove something of a dilettante, but you're nothing of that sort! You must have been working very much harder than ever I did, at this stage.’

‘I don't think that's possible.’ Vaughan replied. ‘They still talk about you as a man who always worked twenty hours out of the twenty-four. He did that for years on end,’ the driver went on, turning to Evelyn, ‘and he rarely sent in a bill, excusing himself on the grounds that he was too busy.’

‘People always paid me, when they were able,’ Dr. Relf protested.

‘If I turn out to be half as good as you,’ Vaughan said quietly, ‘I'll do what you did— and not send in bills. Only that will be largely because I don't need to, not because I'm kind ‘

‘That's more than half-way to a noble view of things,’ Relf answered, ‘only take greater care of your health than I did. We shall be good friends, I hope,’ he added, and slipped his hand through Vaughan's arm.  ‘Incidentally, I've arranged a dinner tonight for Ellison and Dan. Miss Fraser and her father, and Jerry, of course. I'd be very happy if you would join us as well.’

The two moved away together, the little doctor talking and smiling. Evelyn watched them go.

‘I think Dr. Relf has arranged something rather special,’ she said. ‘I believe his  idea is to keep Mr Ellison's mind off the record attempt.’ Evelyn's surmise was correct, but Dr Relf's effort was not altogether successful. He gave the dinner in a restaurant where he appeared to be known and much respected, but the fact that Ellison ate sparingly was a constant reminder of the risk he was to face the next day. His expression was very dour, and although he tried to maintain conversation, ever and again he would become silent and thoughtful, his brow creasing between his great temples, furrows showing between his eyes.

Evelyn did her best to help Relf in keeping the talk away from cars, but this was difficult because they were Vaughan's one interest and he constantly revived the subject.

‘I kept kicking him under the table.’ Evelyn told Jerry when, later, he walked with her towards her hotel, ‘then he'd apologise and that would only make it worse’

‘It might have been better to talk about the machines,’ Jerry suggested ‘Ellison believes that hell be risking his life in the morning, and we could have thought of things to reassure him.’

‘Do you think he Is?’ Evelyn asked. ‘Running into danger, I mean?’

‘I don't think there's any more risk than a driver normally has to face in an attempt of this sort,’ he answered. ‘I mean,’ He broke off. ‘Oh, lord, let's forget it!’ They wandered through the dark, broad paths of the Tuileries. and stood for a while within the coolness of the fountains in the Place de la Concorde, sensing the breadth and beauty of the city. They wandered back through streets which were busy still, stopping at a gaily lighted cafe before they parted.

‘I'll bring a car round here for you at six o'clock tomorrow morning,’ Jerry told her. ‘We can get out to the track in plenty of time then.’

‘I'll be ready,’ she assured him, and she was waiting the next morning when Jerry drove up with Dan and Vaughan, and they made a fast run through empty streets to the Orleans road. Relf and Ellison had started much earlier, and Evelyn's father had gone, with them. The car was standing outside its garage when they arrived.

Timekeepers and officials were already on the track, and everything had been prepared. Ellison smiled a little when he saw his drivers.

‘Anything we can do?’ Dan asked him. He shook his head. Relf was adjusting pads of rubber packing about Ellison's ribs, his wrists and ankles had already been bandaged. The little doctor saw to it that he had every possible protection, although Ellison protested that this was unnecessary for so short a time.

‘You want all the support you can get,’ Relf told him. ‘You won't be able to relax for an instant, so just leave all this to me.’

Dan and Jerry helped him with his overalls, when Relf had done. He took crash helmet and goggles, then walked to the machine. The upper part of the cockpit was lifted to admit him, and was then clamped down over his shoulders. He adjusted the wing-nuts on the inside, then nodded to Tad Long. Men pushed the car forward and it was followed by the crowd of photographers and newspaper men, officials and spectators who had troubled to come out to see the early morning effort.

The car rolled up a ramp to the oval track, and the sun was shining on the smooth, enormously high bankings which joined the short, twin straights. A fence had once stood at the upper edge of the bankings, but storms had torn most of it away, and what little remained was derelict, silhouetted against the sky. Bushes and trees grew on the waste ground inside the course, and the place had an atmosphere entirely different from that of Brooklands. It had been built for speed, and speed alone, and the quality of the smooth-surfaced mile and a half of grey concrete was uncompromising. With the attempt timed to start at 7 o'clock, there could be little delay, and at once Ellison sent the car off covering lap after lap until he was satisfied that everything about the machine had warmed up.

He came to a stop, where officials were gathered: Jerry and the rest had joined them, and Ellison made no effort to get out of the car. He called to Evelyn. ‘Tell them that I'm ready to go just as soon as they are,’ he said. She translated his words. There was a brief conference, the timing apparatus was made ready while Tad Long looked about the car.

‘All set now,’ Evelyn called, after hardly a minute had gone. Dan started forward with Jerry, intending to wish Ellison luck, but he gave them no opportunity as he shouted for mechanics to restart the engine. They pushed the car forward, the motor fired, Ellison sent it on to its mark, then the machine went thundering away, flame gushing momentarily from the tail before the car swept into its stride. It vanished around the banking, and the note of the exhaust came back like the stammered rattle of a machine gun, deepening as the car came into sight again, still gathering speed when it swept off the second banking, raced past the sloping shape of the grandstand opposite, and completed its first lap, streaking into the curve ahead and disappearing behind the trees which scattered the inside of the grey oval.

Jerry stood beside Evelyn. She held his arm, while they watched for Elli son to reappear. When he came into sight next time, the Ace was high on the concrete slope, dropping off it in a sheer and steady dive. Dan produced a stop watch and timed the car's next lap, calling to Jerry above the machine's thunder as it went by. ‘A hundred and forty-three! He'll do it, if he keeps this up.’

The car's wheel marks showed on the dew-wet track, and Ellison rode over them each time so that, when he was out of sight, all they could see were the twin tracks that accurately followed the slope of the banking, the car running over them as if on rails when it came into view again. It was perfectly steady but tremendously fast, and although it seemed to travel effortlessly, both Dan and Jerry knew what was happening in the little cockpit of the narrow, streamlined body.

They knew the delicate touch with which Ellison must be controlling the machine as he took it on to the banking, his grip tightening when he had mounted the steep slope, fighting the car's tendency to hurl itself through the broken fencing which marked the upper edge, holding it grimly when the green shape dropped to the flat and, all the time, riding with his foot forced hard down on the throttle pedal.

Never once did the savage snarl of the exhaust drop. On each lap the machine arrived with a screaming rush, which deepened to a snarl as it flashed by and vanished again. No one moved from the side of the concrete. Dan clocked the machine on every second lap, grunting occasionally to Jerry. ‘Hundred and forty-three,’ he said. ‘Point three— point four— point six. He's well at it now.’

Presently he called, ‘The last two laps were at a hundred and forty-four.’

‘He'll do it!’ Evelyn breathed. Nearly half an hour had passed then, and they knew if anything were to go wrong it must show itself soon, so that the tension increased amongst those who watched.

Forty-five minutes went by and still the streamlined shape held to its set course, fast and steady. Tad Long was using field glasses to watch the car from the moment that it came into sight until it vanished again. He was, Jerry knew, trying to see the tyres, studying the wheel-fairings to make certain that they held and did not shake loose. A man was near him, standing by to flag the machine off the track at the first sign of any danger. Evelyn's father was watching the tyres. his thumb tucked through the buttonhole of his lapel, his fingers drumming constantly; he knew what the effect might be if a tyre gave out now.

The time drifted into the last minutes of the hour, and still Ellison maintained his effort, still the roar of the machine came steadily, still it appeared and disappeared with absolute regularity.

No one spoke now, except one of the Frenchmen who stood with a chronometer in his hand. They heard him count at five minutes, then the time clipped to four— three— two minutes.

'He's all right.' Evelyn breathed, and her fingers tightened yet more on Jerry's arm.

'One minute:' the Frenchman called, as the Ace came into sight again. It shot past. Tad lowered his field glasses. Mr. Fraser stopped drumming on his lapel, Jerry found himself breathing quickly until, faultlessly, the machine leaped to view once more, and he heard the Frenchmen shouting. One ran forward, waving a chequered flag, its black and white fluttering down as the car went by.

'He's done it!' Dan grunted, and used the back of his hand to wipe his forehead. They heard the car's exhaust note start to fade. The machine slowed all the way round the track, then appeared low down on the banking, running towards men who raced to meet it. Mechanics cheered as they gathered round the machine when it stopped: Dan and Relf were at the side of the car, jerking up the cockpit cover the moment that Ellison released it, helping him out.

There was oil-film on his face, and he held tightly to Dan as his feet dropped to the ground. He was deafened, and could not hear what was said to him; Jerry helped him away from the machine, and a mechanic ran up, with an oil-drum. They lowered Ellison on to this, while Kenneth Vaughan produced a bottle of champagne and a glass.

'Did I do it?' Ellison asked then. Tad Long was with the time keepers and he now came running back, a slip of paper in his hand. 'The figures aren't checked over.' He shouted the words in Ellison's car, showing him the slip. 'But you covered 1405 miles. And that's put the hour record well up!'

Ellison smiled when he read the figures, then came to his feet. He staggered a little, because he was stiffened and shaken, and the run had distressed him physically.

'I was bumped about a bit.' he said hoarsely. He looked towards Dan and Jerry, Vaughan and the men behind them. 'If there were any doubts about our cars, I think they're settled now,' he added, and waved to the foreman. 'You can get the racing jobs on the road to Reims as soon as you like, Tad!

'And I'll take you off to breakfast,' Relf called to Ellison. 'We've got something to celebrate now. We'll go while the men get the lorries away. Now have come more champagne!'

Ellison obeyed. As his deafness passed, he told his drivers how the car had behaved. He had had no trouble from start to finish; the machine had been rock-steady, although it had needed careful handling off the bankings, but that was to be expected. He walked with them back to the garage, following the car as it was pushed ahead.

He stripped off his racing kit, and almost at once became himself again, recovering rapidly. He inspected the lorries that carried the racing machines, making certain that every thing was in order, then gave instructions to the men who were to take the record-breaker back to the works.

It was then that Tad Long came to where Evelyn stood.

'Miss Fraser, I've got that photograph from Italy.' he said. 'It came last night — sent on to me from home.'

He handed her an envelope, and she drew out the photograph. 'You'd better keep it,' the foreman added, then moved away.

Evelyn studied the picture before calling to Jerry and Vaughan.

They walked clear of the others and she took from her handbag the picture of Bill Palmer's crash. Vaughan looked at it closely, saying nothing.

'And the one that I've just got from Tad was taken when Tim Duggan crashed,' she said. 'A photographer was near the bridge.' Jerry bent over it with Vaughan. 'When the camera's shutter had snapped, the machine had been within inches of hitting the parapet of the bridge, but had not actually struck it. Jerry could see that the front wheels were locked over, as if the driver were making an attempt to avert a smash that was inevitable.

The effort had brought him up in the cockpit, and although he was not in such accurate focus as Bill Palmer had been, there was no possibility of mistaking the expression on his face. As in the picture of the Chatillon crash, this photograph of Tim Duggan, taken the fraction of a second before his machine was wrecked, showed his expression as one of complete amazement and surprise.

'Well, what do yon make of that?' Jerry asked slowly.

'I don't know.' Vaughan studied the Italian photograph again, then held the two pictures together, and examined them in turn. 'You were right about the drivers looking surprised.' he said. 'It's strange, isn't it — and there must be a reason for it.’

'The reason can't be in the cars. Mr. Ellison has proved that now,'' Evelyn exclaimed. ‘Then it must have been the curse, or— ' Vaughan paused. 'Or else something— someone completely ruthless is sending our machines off the road— deliberately.'

He glanced it Jerry, then looked to where Dan stood with Ellison. His voice came low-pitched, but quite steady. 'We've got to find out what it is before we start at Reims, or one of us will go.'

9. Shall Come Safe Home

EVELYN SAT in the silent Cathedral de Notre Dame, at Reims, looking to where lights from the town, glimmering through the falling dusk, caught the richly collared glass of the leaded panes. Just as these lights were an intrusion upon the sanctity of the cathedral, so sounds from the town violated its quiet. Dusty cars were roaring into Reims from the eight great roads which fed the city, arriving from Italy and Germany, Belgium and distant parts of France. They came with horns that sounded endlessly, exhausts thudding and engines roaring as if their drivers hoped to be mistaken for men intimately connected with those who were to race the next day.

Reims was all white stone and concrete, multi-collared advertisements, clattering tramcars and shops fronted with chromium and glass. It was as modern as the cars which were to run over the circuit at the city's edge, and every street seemed to echo the excitement and clamorous activity which, at the moment, surrounded the Ace machines.

The days following the arrival of the cars had held more stress than Evelyn had ever known before, more anxiety and more desperate work than she had imagined possible. She had seen Ellison roused until he was shouting savagely at the mechanics; she had seen Dan lose his temper, and Jerry had once flung tools to the floor, ignoring even herself as he strode out to start a two-hour tramp, which steadied his frayed nerves.

Kenneth Vaughan had been the only one to remain cool, and Evelyn had never been able to forget what he had said just before they left Montlhery. Fears which had been suppressed rose again, so that the work and worry of each passing day served to heighten the conviction that the machines were ill-fated, and that the French Grand Prix would end in disaster for one or other of them.

Evelyn's own nerves had become taut and strained. Finding herself near the cathedral, she had slipped through a little door in the beautifully sculptured facade, and here she found the peace that she needed. In the streets of the city there was restless movement and excitement, and in the Ace camp was grim activity which would continue past midnight until dawn, and might not end even then. The cars were housed in a garage just off the Place Drouet d'Erlon, and mechanics were working behind closed doors. The modem, efficient garage provided all the equipment that could possibly be required, and it was badly needed, because the cars had been in trouble from the opening practice lap.

In spite of their careful preparation at the works, each machine produced a crop of difficulties, and as soon as one was overcome another arose. It was as though the machines themselves had some foreknowledge of the race, echoing the fears in Evelyn's own heart, striving to make it impossible for them to be brought to the starting line.

On his opening lap, six days before, Dan had blown a cylinder head gasket. The following morning, Vaughan had melted a big end bearing, and after that, never more than one car was running steadily. There were difficulties with fuel and with sparking plugs, and oil leaked badly past the bearings of Vaughan's supercharger. When all seemed well and the three cars were lapping fast during final practice, Vaughan's gearbox seized solidly at Geuex Corner. The machine skidded viciously, and bent its front axle against a wall. Half an hour later, Jerry blew a hole through the crown of a piston, and, to complete a disastrous morning, Dan's machine developed bouts of misfiring which arose from a cause that baffled all attempts to locate it.

During the whole week Evelyn had been helping Dr. Relf, attending to official matters for Ellison so that he might give well his time to the cars. Every night, she had seen over-taxed mechanics work to make the machines ready for the next day's practice, and the whole camp had developed an atmosphere of fatigue and strain which reacted upon Evelyn herself. Through all this, she had been glad to find herself so near Jerry, able to hear his voice and watch his face, because she was afraid for him, and her mind carried a half-formed hope that something might yet happen which would make him unable to run in the race.

She remained in the cathedral while the shadows became more and more dim, and the lights from outside grew brighter. Presently, she rose to go and, pausing by a little door, looked down the length of the beautiful building. Lamps made patches of soft light, and at the far end, candles burned steadily, throwing a pure glow which she found heartening. It was like a gentle promise that, even yet, all might be well.

She went out and down the slope to where trams rattled and crowds jostled and cars screamed in gear as they threaded the traffic. All Reims appeared to be in the streets as she went on to the Place Drouet d'Erlon, with its cafes, crowded tables, and glaring lights. She turned from this to the garage beside a little hotel, where the Ace drivers and mechanics were staying.

A crowd had gathered outside, in the hope of gaining a glimpse of the machines whenever the doors were opened. Two gendarmes were on guard, accompanied by a man who belonged to the garage itself. He recognised Evelyn, and those on the pavement craned to stare as a door was opened and she slipped through. The racing cars stood at the far end of the big garage.

Pausing just in side the door, Evelyn had an impression of oil-blackened concrete, of electrics glaring on bared steel, of overalled figures working intently. Vaughan's machine had been raised from the ground, the body stripped away; Dan was with Ellison, and blue smoke hazed the air behind, showing that Dan had just tried his engine again. Joe Naylor and two other men were by the third car, but Evelyn could not see Jerry.

'He's just, gone off, miss,' Joe answered, when she spoke to him 'He didn't feel too good, or something.'

‘What do you mean?’ She looked at the man, a little startled.

‘The guv’nor knows.’ Ellison glanced up when she approached, his expression resigned.

‘I think, we've got Jerry's car all right now, but he doesn't appear to be quite himself,’ he said slowly. ‘He's just gone into the hotel.’

‘It's nothing to worry about,’ Dan called. ‘He's been working like a nigger all the afternoon— been doing too much.’

The two bent over the car again, and she hurried out to the hotel. Evelyn discovered Jerry alone in the small lounge which had been reserved for Ellison and the drivers. It was a stiff, formal little room, with furniture upholstered in heavy plush, and pictures in ornate, gilded frames; there was little comfort here.

Jerry was sprawled on a settee. He had lost some of his colour, and was curled up uneasily. He started to his feet when she entered.

‘Don't get up, Jerry!’ She half ran to him. ‘What's wrong?’

‘It can't be much,’ he answered, and patted the belt that hitched up his oil-smirched trousers.

‘I've got an ache here. There's no pain— just uncomfortable.’

‘I'll go and find Dr. Relf.’

‘No, don't:’ He drew her down beside him. ‘There's no need for any fuss, and I'll be all right tomorrow.’ He curled up again beside her, folding his arms and pressing them down on his middle, as if to ease the aching.

‘The cars are coining along nicely now, and I suppose you know that we're going to win tomorrow?’ She heard him laugh a little. ‘It's always a good sign when you have trouble before a race.’

Evelyn made no response. It was the first time that she had ever seen Jerry unwell, and she found it hard to decide how much he was affected. Before he could go on, Relf came quickly into the room, and there was a smile on his ruddy face as he approached Jerry.

‘I've been expecting something like this, my boy,’ he said, then ignored him while he patted Evelyn's arm. ‘You needn't concern yourself, my dear— nervous indigestion, that's all it is,’ he went on. ‘It's simply a reaction from the past week.’ When Jerry swung his feet to the floor, the little grey-haired man bent and pushed him back on to the settee, laughing quietly.

‘Keep just where you are,’ he said cheerily. ‘If you will only rest quietly, you'll be quite all right in the morning, and you'll have no more trouble.’

‘That's a relief,’ Evelyn broke in. ‘I was afraid that it might be something serious.’

‘As a matter of fact. I fear I'm the indirect cause of this.'' Dr. Relf  answered. ‘No one bothered about a midday meal, so I had some sandwiches made up. Jerry probably ate rather too many, that's all.’

His manner was reassuring, but he insisted that Jerry should go to his room, and refused permission for him to return to the garage that night. ‘Just try and keep your mind off the I race,’ he said.

Jerry obeyed Relf's orders, but he found It difficult to get to sleep. He heard one of the Aces go out on test, and soon after it had returned a knock came on his door. Vaughan entered, and his keen glance studied Jerry as he sat on the edge of the bed, and related how the work on the cars was progressing. He himself had tested Jerry's machine, and assured him that it was running well.

‘Mine's coming along all right,’ he added. ‘And Dan has discovered his trouble. Now get a good night's rest, everything will be fine in the morning.’

Jerry slept then, and wakened very early. He felt altogether better, and went directly to the garage. Men were just completing work on Vaughan's car and Jerry, anxious to test his own machine, took it out. He found the roads already congested by traffic coming to the course, and he could not touch real speeds, but the run assured him that the engine had been restored to its former tune.

The shaking that he received from the car brought back a dull, bruised feeling to his stomach, but he almost forgot this in his satisfaction with the machine.

He ate sparingly at breakfast, after which Vaughan's Ace was tried out: it returned with a pleased and contented driver. There was little more to be done after that, and mechanics began cleaning the cars. The atmosphere in the garage changed, now that work was ended, and into the manner of the tired, heavy-eyed mechanics came a forced cheerfulness. The old feeling of strain returned as they waited to go to the course, bringing with it the apprehension that had existed at Mulsanne and Auvergne. Finally, a lorry went off with equipment for the replenishment depot, and, soon afterwards, Dan disappeared into the hotel, where Dr. Relf examined him before he adjusted his wrist bandages.

Dan returned to the garage, coming to where Jerry was checking over his racing kit.

‘Now were really beginning to make a move.’ Dan said, as he pressed his firm linen tapes about his wrist. ‘You'd better go in.’

‘Relf won't find anything wrong with me,’ Jerry, answered.

‘Lord. I hope not!’ Dan's pipe smacked against the palm of his hand as he knocked out the dottle. ‘I shouldn't care to start without the comfortable feeling that you're behind me.’

Jerry found Dr. Relf waiting in the lounge. The grey-haired man used his stethoscope, then bent over his portmanteau. ‘You're feeling quite all right now, eh?’ he asked, as the door opened to admit Vaughan.

‘Pretty good.’ Jerry answered.

‘Excellent; but I think Vaughan would agree with me that a little stimulant will help to overcome the remnants of your over-night trouble’

‘I could do with something too,’ Vaughan broke in, as he dropped on to the settee. ‘I'm beginning to feel a little on edge.’

‘If you imagine you need a tonic, prescribe for yourself.’ Relf smiled ‘And I think you'll also agree that we should defer giving anything to our patient here until just before the race.’

''Let him have it now,’ Vaughan broke in. ‘It'll brace him up before he gets on the line. Once he's in the race, he won't have a chance to think about how he feels!’

‘H'm!’ Relf rubbed a hand across his smooth chin. ‘Perhaps you are right.’ and he stooped to his bag,  shaking a pill from a phial into Jerry's hand.

‘What have you given him?’ Vaughan reached for the bottle and glanced at its inscription. ‘Yes that's good stuff, Jerry!’ He rattled the pills as he reached into the bag and picked out a roll of wrist bandages.

‘I'll lend a hand with these,’ Jerry stripped to his singlet, and soon bandages were taut on both wrists. He helped Relf adjust Vaughan's, then the two drivers returned to the garage, where they found Evelyn looking over the contents of a lunch basket, which had been sent from the hotel and was to go to the pit. Most of the mechanics had now left for the course, but Tad Long and Joe Naylor remained with a couple of men making tow ropes ready for the racing machines.

Ellison was restless, and he talked but little, while they waited for the time at which he had decided they should leave. He helped Vaughan when the drivers began to don their racing kit, and Dan called Jerry over when they were ready. They leaned together against a bench, studying a race programme and a list of practice lap times which Dan had secured from Ellison. The entry list for the French Grand Prix showed its importance. Georg Buchmann was leading a team of German machines again, and the Rochelles were running: Radezza's black Maseratis were in the race and another team of the same marque was carrying the red of Italy's international racing colour. Four Alfa-Romeos were coming to the line, with no fewer than five Bugattis.

‘Buchmann put up fastest practice tune— ninety-one point seven miles an hour, well under three minutes.’ Dan said. ‘He'll drive all out, because a German machine hasn't won this race since the Mercedes got home twenty years ago. And that red Maserati of Pietro's is another fast job,’ he went on. ‘His time was only two-fifths of a second behind Buchmann's— and Sezanne was just as quick.’

‘We ought to let the fast fellows crack one another up, before we show what we can do,’ Jerry replied.

‘That's Ellison's idea, too. He says he'll be satisfied if I sit back for the first ten laps, so you might as well keep right on my tail. After that, down goes my foot, and up go my lap speeds.’

‘That's all right, if you can carry it out, Dan,’ Ellison said, as he came over. ‘But I can't decide any real tactics for this race— anything might happen to chance them. You'll have to watch the pit end take my signal.’

He called to Vaughan, and went on when the young driver joined them.

‘There isn't anything that I want to say now, except one thing: for heaven's sake, be careful. I'd sooner see the cars fail altogether than have a repetition of what has happened before. You appreciate that, don't you?’ He looked round at them before he added: ‘You must not take any risks at all.’

Dan smiled slowly, and his chin came up. ‘I'm going on the road to race, and I'll race,’ he said. ‘If I can bring my machine first to the finish— it'll be there.’

‘It isn't much good talking about taking chances,’ Jerry added. Ellison laughed then, and Vaughan was smiling. ‘Have it your own way. I don't want to interfere with your driving, and it will mean a good deal to me if you can pull it off.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I think we might as well make a move now.’

Mechanics had already attached tow-ropes between the racing machines and the cars which were to take them to the course, and as Jerry moved away he felt Vaughan touch his arm.

‘Evelyn had to into the town,’ he said. ‘She asked me to say that she'll be at the pits by the time we start.’

Jerry thanked him, and slid behind the wheel of his machine. When the cars rolled out to the sunlit road, Ellison led with his fast saloon, and the commanding note in its horn secured them a right of way through the traffic which was pouring over the long, double bridge that crossed the canal and formed an entry to the Avenue de Paris. They ran steadily up the hill, joining the course by Thillois, where a great enclosure was faced by tales of compressed straw. There were corn fields on either band, with the wheat cut back from the road-edge to provide space for spectators. Here the racing circuit sloped down to the tribunes, and beyond the roofed shape of the grandstand Jerry could see the white tower of the church at Gueux, the first corner after the starting point.

The road on either hand was black from crowds, and most of the cars were at their replenishment depots when the team arrived. The engines of the Aces were started up at once, and the machines stood roaring in front of the pits, warming up. With his own power-unit turning over steadily, Jerry glanced  around. Across the road was the grandstand, built from concrete and packed solidly with spectators, who overflowed into the enclosures on either hand. The replenishment depots were filled with active men, and people stared down over the railings which edged their flat roofs. Like the stand, the pits were also built from reinforced concrete, which glared white in the hot sunshine.

When Jerry switched off his engine, and began to help Joe fit fresh sparking plugs, he became conscious of the harsh bellow of other machines. Their exhaust notes were vicious and angry, and it seemed to him that the noises about the starting point were more strident than usual. He could see Dan busy about his car, active, alert in every movement, while Vaughan was smiling eagerly as he worked. Jerry wondered if they would all come safely from the race. Ellison had deliberately delayed their arrival in order to lessen the time before they took their starting positions, and the levels of oil and petrol had hardly been topped up when Georg Buchmann's white machine was wheeled out, beginning the parade for the line-up.

'Get them away now,' Ellison called.

Joe Naylor was tightening the bonnet straps then, and Jerry glanced into the pit. He had been watching constantly for Evelyn; now he realised that he would have to start without exchanging a last word with her. He wondered what had delayed her at Reims.

'Good luck!' Vaughan was beside him, offering his hand as he looked keenly at Jerry. 'Are you feeling all right?'

'Of course! A bit on edge,' Jerry answered 'Keep your tail wagging!'

He exchanged a quick grip with Joe, then turned to his own car and slid down behind the wheel. Ellison moved to each driver in turn, shaking hands and, just before marshals beckoned him forward, Jerry found Dr. Relf beside the car.

'How are you now?'

'All right, thanks,' and Jerry smiled. 'I say, you might tell Evelyn that I missed her, will you?'

'I'll remember.' The little doctor patted his shoulder. 'Good-bye, my boy. good-bye!'

He stepped away as the car rolled forward, running to where the machines were being arranged in pairs down the road, according to their practice times. The green cars were placed one in the rear of the other, with Dan leading and Jerry behind him, standing alongside one of the blue Rochelles. The French, driver nodded, and Jerry acknowledged his greeting, remembering, in the same moment, that the Aces were in the race to beat these blue cars, if they did nothing else.

The sun shone out of a clear sky, and spectators showed like a wall on either side of the road which stretched ahead. They shifted restlessly, their excitement increasing as the minutes passed and brought the machines nearer to the moment when they would be released on the triangular circuit. Jerry sat thinking of the course, judging that since he was in the thick of the pack, the corner at Gueux would be dangerous. Probably he would be hemmed in for some distance before he could win clear. During the first couple of miles close-running machines would make things hazardous, but it was almost always like that on any course.

One by one the cars were started up, and their mechanics ran to the side of the road. The people in the grandstand came to their feet as loud speakers counted off the remaining seconds, while drivers at the rear of the pack positioned their machines ready for an effort to get ahead the instant that the flag fell.

In the Ace pit Ellison had taken his place beside the time-keepers. Relf came to his side, and Ellison noticed that he was watching Jerry.

'Is he all right?' he asked. 'I thought he looked a bit queer before they went out.'

'Nerves,' Relf answered. 'That's all.'

The two waited while the bellowing of the cars lifted to an impatient crescendo, and suddenly the starter's flag dropped abruptly. As the machines shot away Dan swung his car outwards, Jerry following at his tail, and both accelerated furiously, passing machines which had been in front of them, gaining ground as they raced out of sight where the road bent beyond the pit area.

The noise of the cars rose, slamming thunderously and drowning all other sound, until, in what seemed but a moment, they had vanished, leaving only the fumes of burnt oil and smoke swirling in the air as if it were agitated by the decreasing roar of exhausts. The cars could be heard slowing for Gueux, the sound rising again as they raced around the back of the course, then the crowd in the grandstand sat down to wait for the reappearance of the machines.

No one spoke in the Ace depot. The pit was orderly and neat, with polished tools and collared cartons of sparking plugs set out on the counter, below which were rows of petrol churns. They were empty as yet, out the neck of each was stuffed with rags to keep out dust. The time-keepers sat on oil drums behind a sloping shelf which carried a battery of stop-watches and the white sheets of their time charts.

In the rear of each pit were cans filled with petrol, oil, or water, and against the row of spare wheels stood the painted pit signals. In every depot mechanics and attendants waited for the cars to come round at the end of the first lap. Hardly a man spoke, because this opening circuit would show which machines were making the pace, and what chance the others stood against them.

Two minutes slipped by, then a rising roar sounded from Thillois, and Ellison leaned over the counter, using field glasses. He focussed them on the sloping road from the distant turn, picking up dark shapes which pitched down it, leaving a dust haze behind.

'Pietro!' he called. 'Then Sezanne and Buchmann!'

He guessed the cars by their colours; he could not see their numbers yet but he knew the drivers most likely to be in the lead. They dropped into a shallow dip just before the stands, then leaped into full view. The red Maserati was twenty yards ahead of the Rochelle, and they came up with a wild rush. Buchmann's white car followed close as they went past, while a string of machines dived down the slope, a Bugatti and an Alfa-Romeo leading them. The French car and the Italian were running side by side, a hundred yards from Buchmann's tail and Dan was very close behind them, Radezza riding with him, and Jerry immediately in rear.

Dan signalled to the pit as he went by but Jerry’s gaze was fixed straight ahead. They went through, superchargers sounding their high-pitched whine, wide-open exhausts drumming a fierce song that was taken up and sustained as the rest appeared, with Vaughan intruding in a private duel between two Maseratis and an Alfa-Romeo, starting a struggle that lasted for half a dozen laps.

'That’s all right.' Ellison straightened. ‘Dan's playing a waiting game, like Radezza.''

He could hear the smash of exhausts as the cars cornered at Gueux, the sound intensified by the houses and barns that stood there. When the machines came round again on the five-mile circuit, the positions of the leaders remained the same. Sezanne was trying to force Pietro to unwise speed, and Buchmann was goading them both. Dan drove steadily while the watchful Radezza travelled with him white teeth showing in his constant grin as he waited for the moment to unleash all the speed and power of his black Maserati.

During the laps which followed, Ellison remained by the timekeepers, watching the charts over which the men bent, lines drawn by collared pencils recorded the speeds of the Aces and of the machines which rivalled them. The men worked neatly and deftly and, suddenly, their charts showed that the pace of the cars fighting for the lead had gone higher. The Aces were on their tenth lap when Ellison called to Dan's mechanic.

'Tell him to open up!' The man snatched the FASTER! signal, and Ellison bent out over the counter with him, using his field glasses, watching the cars that were scuttling down the sloping road, appearing dark in the dust haze until they were near, when the sun caught their colours. He saw the red Maserati, then Buchmann's machine now in front of Sezanne's Rochelle, and all three had passed when Ellison's voice came again. 'Hold that signal— he doesn't need it.’

His glasses had shown Dan on the road from Thillois, and he was now in front of the Bugatti and the Alfa Romeo: they had been ahead of him since the fall of the flag, but Dan had counted his laps, and was following out the tactics of which he had spoken before the race. Ellison lowered his glasses as the Ace pitched into the dip, then came over the crest of the rise beyond, daylight showing under its wheels when the machine bucked. He went by with Radezza also passing the other two machines, the low black car snarling. A long gap had opened between them and Jerry, and Ellison frowned as he looked towards the time-chart after the second Ace had gone. 'He's slowed— dropping back,' he commented, then called— 'Joe, stand by with the 'FASTER!' signal. I may want you to give it to Jerry next time he comes round.'

Vaughan passed, and he was now close behind the winner of the duel between the three Italian cars. The 'OK' signal was waving for him and he acknowledged it. The sound of his machine was still echoing when Ellison saw Evelyn come quickly into the pit. He smiled as he looked to wards the lunch basket that stood on the floor. 'I was beginning to think that you'd deserted us.' he said. 'And I'm also beginning to feel hungry— we all are.'

'I couldn't get here before.' She ignored his hint about lunch, and he noticed that she was panting, as if she had been running. Her voice came sharply again. 'Is Jerry all right?'

'He's just gone through, and they're all running well.'

Her expression caught Ellison's attention. He gazed at her for a moment, then lowered his voice, stooping a little. 'Is something wrong?' She did not answer at once, but remained glancing about the pit. She was pale, he saw now. He felt her hand touch his own, her fingers trembling 'What is it?' he asked.

'I must speak to you,' she whispered shakily. 'But not here.'

She spoke as if she were afraid that she might be heard by others and drew him towards the path at the back of the pit. She stepped close, looking up with eyes that were as dark and as wide as on the morning when she had first come to the camp at Auvergne.

Her lips quivered as she whispered again, her voice urgent. 'You've got to flag Jerry in,'' she said. 'You mustn't keep him on the course for another lap—  get him in! If you don't there'll be another smash '

Her hands clutched at his coat. What colour remained in her cheeks drained away. 'I've found something out!'' she said.

'What is all this?' Ellison caught her by the elbows, alarmed. 'It's no good trying to tell you now.' Her voice began to rise. 'Only for heaven's sake get him in — and don't let anyone know why.'

She saw that he was staring incredulously. 'Can't I make you understand? If you don't call him off the course, he'll smash himself up, like the others did.'

'Do you realise what you're saying?' he asked curtly. 'What, exactly, do you mean?'

'Oh, don't ask questions now. I'm telling you — he must come in!' She shook herself free, her eyes blazing as her voice became desperate. 'Do you want another smash? And if you won't flag him in— I will!'

She darted towards the pit, but he caught her again. He stood looking at her for a moment longer, while cars stormed past, realising her distress and seeing the fear which lay deep in her eyes. Then he released her, and she swayed against the fence as he ran into the pit, picking up Jerry’s COME IN! signal, passing it to Joe and snatching away the one that the man already held.

‘Go out to the front and see that he gets that!’ he ordered. ‘Make sure!’

Joe glanced at him, then looked at Evelyn. The rest of the mechanics were staring, and Relf turned to where she stood.

‘What is wrong, my dear?’ he asked.

‘It will be all right now.’ She hurried past him to stand beside Ellison.

Pietro's red Maserati dropped into the dip and came out of it with a bellowing roar. Buchmann was close behind, drawing his white car out to pass the Italian, and he was almost level when they vanished. Sezanne came into view, and soon Dan appeared.

‘Where's Jerry?’ Evelyn called.

‘Due in twenty seconds!’ one of the timekeepers answered.

Dan's green machine flashed from the dip, with Ragezza. pursuing him past the stands. The Bugatti and the Alfa-Romeo came up, with hardly two yards between the machines as they continued the duel begun at the fall of the flag.

‘Jerry should be showing now!’ Ellison said. The road from Thillois was empty, and Ellison's face held sudden alarm as he glanced at Evelyn.

‘He's due!’ the timekeeper called abruptly.

Every man in the pit became tense. Mechanics crowded forward, staring over the counter. Evelyn was gripping its concrete edge, standing rigidly as she looked towards Thillois, gazing into the haze which the Bugatti and the Alfa-Romeo left behind.

A green showed on the road, and her voice came chokingly. ‘Is this him?’

‘Yes!’ Ellison's voice was relieved as he stared through his glasses, and now Evelyn turned to where Jerry's mechanic stood.

‘Joe, make sure he sees that signal— make sure!’ Tools rattled as the man slid over the counter, dropping to the side of the road, lifting the pole which bore the ‘COME IN!’ signal, holding it high and waving it in great, sweeping arcs as the green machine dived off the slope, then came over the crest of the rise. They saw that Jerry was not holding the centre of the road; he was drawing over towards the pits.

‘He's coming in!’ Ellison exclaimed. ‘But he cant have seen the signal yet.’

They heard the brake go on, and the car lurched as it began to slow, but, at once, the brakes were released, and the car swerved back towards the middle of the course, exhaust roaring as the throttle slammed open.

‘What's the matter with him?’ Ellison stood staring as the Ace swung towards the pits again, charging down. Officials in the pit area began to run, and the green machine suddenly bore towards the Ace depot. Joe turned, leaping for his life, drop ping the pit signal and flinging him self over the counter. The wild screaming of brake shoes came again, and the roaring car was very near then, driving aslant.

Ellison jumped back, but Evelyn remained where she stood. She cried out as she caw Jerry, sitting bolt up right behind the wheel, his goggles staring, his mouth open. Men in the pits alongside shouted above the shrilling of tyres and brakes then, in the last moment, Jerry locked his wheels over, as if he had suddenly seen his danger, but it was too late.

Tad Long caught Evelyn, jerking her backwards as the car, skidding, struck the front of the pit. There was a deafening crash, tools and debris flying from the impact. The dark shape of the car appeared, for one moment, to block the whole of the pit front, then it skimmed on along the line of depots before, abruptly, it lurched away. It slashed madly round in a great cloud of dust, skating to where bales of straw marked the end of the pit area. The car hit them, and came to a stop.

The machine had slashed along the face of the pits, scattering tools from half a dozen of them, but doing no real damage. Ellison jumped over the cracked pit-counter as Tad Long released Evelyn. She stumbled out over broken concrete, to see a dozen men emerge from other depots, while blue warning flags began to flutter all along the straight.

The car had stopped clear of the actual course, and through the dust which hung about the machine, Evelyn saw men dragging Jerry from the cockpit. The car was aslant, with one front wheel torn off. Jerry had lost his goggles, and she saw blood on the sleeves of his overalls. His legs were limp when he was lowered to the ground, and four men picked him up, turning with him and beginning to move at an awkward, stumbling run towards the first-aid station under the chronometrage at the far end of the depots.

Evelyn called Jerry's name. She could see that his eyes were wide and dazed when she tried to get to him, but she was thrust aside. She hardly knew what happened during the next few minutes, and men tried to keep her out of the cool little room to which Jerry had been taken. She found herself insistently demanding admission, first in English and then in French.

Only when Ellison came up would they let her pass, when she found Jerry stretched out on a low couch, with a nurse holding him down while a doctor examined him. Evelyn ran to the doctor, speaking swift French which made him gaze at her in amazement. He bent over Jerry, peering into his eyes, while Evelyn leaned near, calling to him.

‘Everything's all right, Jerry!’ She tried to make her voice steady and clear. ‘You ran into the pits, but no one was hurt.’

He seemed not to hear her. He was staring with dilated eyes, his mouth open as be struggled against her and the nurse, striving to sit up.

‘Jerry, you must keep still. It's Evelyn, here.’ He turned to her, blinking and staring, gasping a little. He became quieter, while the doctor released his abdominal belt, calling to the nurse, who left when Evelyn assured her that she could keep Jerry under control.

She talked to him, and he tried to answer when he understood that the was with him. She felt one of his hands clutch convulsively about her own, and. holding tightly, he grew still. Only then did she realise that Ellison had been behind her all the while.

‘What's wrong with him?’ he asked. ‘This is more than shock!’

‘He'll be all right now.’

Ellison saw that the fear had gone from his face, and relief had taken its place.

‘He'll be better in a little while.’

‘Is this why you wanted him flagged in?’ Ellison asked. ‘You knew he was ill?’

‘I tried to tell you.’

‘But you said you'd found something out. What Was it?’

‘I knew that something like this was going to happen,’ Evelyn answered, ‘only I'm not really sure about any thing. I'll tell you everything that I can after the race. Mr. Ellison— every thing is all right now. Keep the other cars running!’

She turned back to Jerry. Ellison remained gazing down at her, and started to speak again, but she began talking to the doctor in charge of the aid-post, while he treated a cut on Jerry's arm. Ellison hurried out then, running back to the pits to discover how much damage had been done. Half a dozen men were crowded about the doorway, seeking attention for cuts inflicted by flying tools and debris during the crash.

Relf was helping with lint and iodine, and when Ellison had gone he slipped into the room, looking down at Jerry, asking how he was.

‘Getting better now,’ Evelyn replied, ‘and the cut on his arm isn't bad.’

‘Splendid.’ The grey-haired man smiled. ‘I think it is largely a case of shock, but he'll be himself again soon, my dear. As he is in good hands, it would hardly be etiquette for me to remain, but call if you want me.’ He rested a hand encouragingly on Evelyn's shoulder before he went back to the men at the door, while the French doctor dragged a screen around the head of the couch, to keep the light from straining Jerry's eyes.

The doctor and Evelyn talked again, their voices pitched low, so that they hardly carried through the hammering roar of machines passing along the road, filling the building with sound and making the floor shake faintly.

When the doctor left to help Relf, Jerry tried to talk. His voice was very hoarse, and he spoke with difficulty, asking what had happened. He was recovering swiftly, and he insisted upon sitting up when the nurse reappeared.

She brought weak, hot tea and he sipped it eagerly, Evelyn supporting him.

‘I'm fine now.’ he said huskily, when the cup was half empty. ‘I was feeling queer and I thought I'd better come in. But I didn't realise that I was right on top of the pits.’ His words came slowly, and he emptied the cup, rubbing at his throat and frowning. ‘My mouth's dry— hot. It's beastly,’ he said. ‘And what's the matter with my eyes?’

He pressed his finger-tips over them, and stared at her again. ‘I couldn't see too well when I was in the car. Things would look a long way away one moment, then they'd be near. I got the shock of my life when I found I was hitting the pits. I tried to miss them— but I couldn't.’

Evelyn pressed more tea on him,  and he drank again, then the doctor returned, telling her to make him lie down.

‘I ought not to have started.’ he said, as he obeyed. ‘I felt out of sorts before we left the line. It's queer that I couldn’t see though.’

‘Listen, Jerry,’ and Evelyn bent close to him. ‘If you'll stay quietly here for a while, you'll be absolutely fit again.’

He blinked at her, then spoke hoarsely. 'I'm out of tile race, anyway, and if I've crashed that ought to make it all right for Dan and Vaughan.'

He tried to laugh as he peered at her. ‘How are they doing?’

She left him in order to find out, returning with the information that Buchmann had come into the lead, with Pietro second, while Dan was struggling against Sezanne's Rochelle for third place. Vaughan had been taking the FASTER! signal, and was closing up. They sat together, listening to the machines on the road, Jerry commenting every time he heard either of the Aces pass.

An hour had gone by when Joe Naylor came to report about the race. Both  machines had pulled in for replenishments: Dan had passed Sezanne and Pietro, and was barely thirty seconds behind Buchmann, gaining a little on every lap.

‘I must get out of here,’ Jerry protested to Evelyn. 'I'm missing everything. There can't be more than twenty laps to do.’ He came to his feet, stretching himself. ‘There’s nothing at all wrong with me now. I'll just thank the doctor, then we'll go.’

The Frenchman came at Evelyn's call, looking into Jerry's eyes carefully before he slapped him on the back and pushed him towards the door, as an indication that he had permission to leave. Jerry thanked him as well as he was able.

‘Why did he keep looking at my eyes?’ he asked Evelyn as they went.

‘Doctors do queer things sometimes,’ she replied evasively.

The Ace depot had long since been straightened out, while the pits along the front of which the car had skimmed now showed few signs of the crash Dr. Relf wanted Jerry to sit down, and he found it hard to make Ellison and the rest realise that he was perfectly well again. He discovered that Dan was still leading,  and soon he heard  Buchmann approaching, his lean white machine passing with a fierce, smashing roar. Slower machines went by, then came the thunder of Dan's Ace. Jerry leaned out to wave to the car, and saw Dan lift a hand from the wheel in reply. He was Gueux corner before Pietro’s red Maserati appeared on the slope. Then came Radezza and Sezanne, with Vaughan not far behind them.

‘Vaughan's doing well,' Ellison said to Jerry. 'I think he'll be in front of the Rochelle before the finish.'

The laps were running out now, and with every circuit Dan trained on Buchmann. The German pit was flying: an ALL OUT! signal, but Dan was closing down by four seconds on every  lap, and when there were only ten laps to go, he was barely sixty seconds behind. In four more laps he had almost caught the leader, and appeared on the slope close to the white car.

'He'll get him before Gueux Corner!'' Jerry called. He glanced at Ellison, and saw that his lips carried a quiet smile. His eyes were gleaming while he bent to the stop-watches, waiting for them to show that Dan was almost due again.

Two minutes slipped by. 'He should be at Thillois now!'' Ellison said, and the quickness of his voice revealed the feelings that he tried to conceal.

A car appeared In the haze that hung over the falling road.

'Buchmann'.' Ellison exclaimed. 'Where's Dan? He should be in front now.'

They heard the white machine's approaching roar, then a dark shape came into sight and Ellison lifted his glasses.

'Here he comes-- he's slowed right down! Stand by. I think he's pulling in.'

Dan's mechanic went over the pit courier with a rush, and Tad Long gave orders. Spare wheels were sent to the front of the pit: fuel, sparking plugs, water, and oil— all were made ready so that, whatever the car needed, it would be delayed as little as possible. Buchmann passed, while Ellison watched the Ace through his glasses. As the car dived into the dip. he called over his shoulder.

'Tyres are O.K. and the engine sounds all right.'

Then, after a moment.

''There's something wrong with Dan!’

Brakes sounded, and the machine swung into the pit area, arriving with a rush, stopping wide of the counter. There was blood on Dan's face, and smashed goggles hung round his neck. 'A stone hit me— at Garenne!'

He began to climb from the car, and his mechanic helped him out. He stumbled towards the counter while Relf snapped open his bag, lifting a square of lint, wiping Dan's right eye. He peered at the deep cut above it, stared a moment, then called to Ellison— 'He can't go on!'

'I can't see properly'.'

Dan's hoarse voice added. As he shouted, Evelyn saw Jerry vaulting the pit counter, snatching at spare goggles as he went.

'I'll take over!' He ran for the car, tightening the belt under his overalls. He was climbing in when Dan stumbled after him.

'The road's cut up at Garenne, and there's oil inside the turn at Gueux — take it wide! Brakes are all right still!' he shouted above the noise of the still running engine, then the car was off, exhaust booming, Jerry still adjusting his goggles.

Ellison shouted after him. Joe Naylor was yelling in excitement, and Evelyn was leaning out of the pit, startled yet half smiling, and while the car vanished into the bend they heard the snarl of Pietro's red Maserati coming down the road.

'He won't catch turn!' Dan had seen the Italian, and he ignored the car as he held a hand over his injured eye, and turned hack to the pit.

'How much time have we lost?'

'Over twenty seconds.' Ellison answered. 'There are five laps to go!'

Dr. Relf called Dan to him. All the while that his eye was being tended, he watched the road from Thillois, jerking away from Relf when he heard Buchmann's car coining. The German mechanics were exultantly waving him on, and Ellison's timekeeper began to count the seconds that elapsed between his passing and Jerry's arrival. 'Five seconds— ten— fifteen— twenty—twenty-five:'

The Ace roared by. Jerry signalled 'OK'. Then the time keeper was shouting, 'Twenty-seven seconds behind.'

'He'll never do it!' Evelyn exclaimed.

'He will!' Dan answered 'He used that lap to get himself speeded up, and now he'll go flat out. If he can gain six seconds a lap he'll win.'

'Joe, show him a board!' Ellison roared. ‘Mark it twenty-five seconds, let him know how much he has to make up.'

Pietro passed, and Dr. Relf gave attention to Dan's eye again. Radezza came through, well in front of Sezanne now, and the blue car had hardly gone when Vaughan appeared with his Ace.

'He's travelling!' Dan exclaimed. 'He'll catch Sezanne!'

Others cars passed, and barely a dozen were now left in the race. Soon the timekeeper called that Buchmann was due. He appeared on the road, reaching the bottom of the descent as Jerry came in sight.

'He's closing up!' Ellison exclaimed.

They waited while Buchmann passed. The Ace arrived, half the crowd in the  stand coming upright to watch the car go.

'He trained six seconds!' the timekeeper yelled.

'And that's driving!’ Dan's voice cracked. 'Never mind my eye, ReIf. Let me watch this. Twenty-one seconds behind and three laps to go!’

He leaned against the pit counter and glanced at Evelyn. His eye was inflamed and the cut above it bled still, but he was smiling.

'Jerry's going to win, you watch. And Vaughan will pass that Rochelle.’

Ellison no longer used his glasses when Buchmann next appeared on the road. Jerry shot out of the dust-haze behind it, and they could see that he had gained, but they did not know by how much until he came level.

'He picked up six seconds again, but he can't do the impossible, Dan!' Ellison said.

'Next time he goes by, he'll be starting the last lap— nine seconds behind, at least.'

Dan grabbed a piece of lint from Dr. Relf and dabbed at his eye, then called to Joe Naylor. 'Show ten seconds on that board,' he said, 'and give me my FASTER! signal. We'll let Jerry know what he's got to do— and he'll do it!'

Dan took the red signal from Joe, turning when he heard a roar down the road and saw Vaughan on the slope, pulling level with Sezanne— pulling out — passing as they cleared the dip, to be just in front when he went by the stands.

'Look at that!' Dan shouted. 'There's an omen for you.'

He stood astride the road, the pit signal held in both hands, blood trickling down his cheek, and his sound eye bright. Joe climbed to the pit counter with the chalked board, mechanics crowding behind him, Evelyn bent past Dr. Relf, and she was trembling when Buchmann appeared and Jerry burst on to the road from Thillois. The German car jumped out of the dip and hurled on, passing with a shattering tumult of sound which told of the desperate way in which Buchmann was now driving. The echoes of the exhaust note were dying when the sound of the Ace drowned them. Dan swung the signal as the machine leaped to the flat stretch, Evelyn waved, and the mechanics deafened her with their shouting. She could hardly hear the passing of the machine, and when it had gone the people in the grandstand remained on their feet, staring as they watched it storm towards Gueux.

Pietro appeared. He had slowed down, and Radezza was bringing his black machine after him, catching the red car, going by it in front of the stands.

'Pietro's cracking- up!' Ellison exclaimed. 'Vaughan will get him now if he goes flat out. Here he is!'

The second Ace came from Thillois, and Ellison shouted for Vaughan’s FASTER! signal. It was thrown out and Dan caught it, lifting it high, and once again Evelyn found the voices of excited mechanics dimming the thunderous passing of the car. The timekeeper began counting back the seconds to the moment when Buchmann and Jerry should appear again, his voice coming steadily. Evelyn found her heart leaping every time a machine came into view, while Ellison kept his glasses concentrated on the last comer of the course, at Thillois.

'Jerry's due in one minute!' the timekeeper called. Seconds ticked away, then Ellison shouted suddenly— 'Buchmann's at the corner— in front still!'

Evelyn climbed on to the narrow counter and, failing to find her balance, dropped to the road and stepped beside Dan. Ellison and Tad Long came out, all watching the distant haze, from which a car suddenly be came clear.

'Buchmann!'' Ellison said again. 'And Jerry's with him!'

Dan's voice cracked. 'He's got him— they're nearly level!'

Evelyn saw the dark shape of the Ace, coming beside the lighter blur of the German machine. She found her self clutching at Ellison's arm, as she saw that the Ace was passing while both dived towards the dip. The shouting of the crowd across the road drowned the sound of the cars, but their roaring gradually overwhelmed it. Jerry shot in front— drew ahead, dropped into the dip, then plunged out of it, arriving with one last smashing roar, his arm raised high as he saw the chequered flag dropping for him. He went past, and Buchmann followed two hundred yards behind him.

'If you've clocked that lap, you'll find it was the fastest of the race!' Dan roared the words as he turned to the timekeepers, then he gripped Ellison's hand. 'He did it— we've won!' The mechanics were shouting wildly, tumbling out of the pit to the road. The crowd was applauding, and Evelyn found tears in her eyes as Dan turned to her, blood on his face, his hands gripping her shoulders while he bent.

'Jerry did it!' he said again. 'I knew he wouldn't let us down!'

They heard Radezza's car on the road, and Dan stepped away, lifting both arms as he cheered the little Italian, then he looked for Vaughan, and they saw him soon.

'He's passed Pietro!' Ellison called. 'We're first and fourth, Dan!'

The car came up, with Vaughan leaning out of the cockpit, laughing through the grime on his face.

And now the crowd began to swarm over the grass bank that fronted the grandstand enclosure, making it impossible for officials to hold them back. People came from the enclosures beyond the pits, running up in the hope or getting a close glimpse of the winning machine when it finally stopped.

Warning flags flew along the straight, and cars still running were slowed down, brought to a halt by the crowd as they came towards the tribunes. In a little while Jerry showed on the road from Thillois, with Buchmann. Radezza and Vaughan closing up behind him.

Dan caught Evelyn's arm, and they went at a run to where officials had grouped with laurel wreaths and flowers, while ropes were stretched to keep  a space clear for the cars. Jerry drove in and stopped.

The scent of roses came to him through the fumes of his engine as a circlet  was flung over his head. He struggled out of his seat when he saw Dan running to him. Jerry tore the flowers off and dropped them over Dan's head.

‘I've only finished what you started!’ he exclaimed. They shook, hands, while cameras clicked. Ellison appeared with the mechanics, and Vaughan brought his car alongside. For minutes after that, everything was a confusion of flowers and champagne, congratulations and photographs, then the drivers were urged through the applauding crowd towards the grandstand for the brief prize-giving ceremony.

Dan and Jerry shared the Ace honours, and the big, good-humoured Buchmann slapped Jerry on the back, not resenting in the least that he had been beaten with the chequered flag in sight. Radezza came up, pressing Jerry's hand and smiling, talking in Italian. Jerry looked for Evelyn, then, in the hope that she could translate what the Italian driver said. Jerry had been given time for no more than a few quick words with her after he had stopped and he did not see her now until he was returning to the Ace depot. She was with Vaughan and Ellison; they were talking quietly together, standing a little distance away from the pit, where Dr. Relf was sitting on the scarred concrete counter; he had a bowl of water and a sponge, and was obviously waiting for an opportunity to give Dan's eye proper attention.

‘You'd better wait for me in the pit,’ Jerry heard Ellison say. ‘I'll give the men something to do that will keep them out of the way.’ He looked up, beckoning to Jerry and Dan as they approached. ‘You might stay here until I come back. We've got to talk about something.’ He hurried off, calling to the mechanics, issuing orders to prepare Jerry's car for the return to Reims. Dan gazed after him, then glanced at Vaughan, whose features had lost all the elation they had shown a little earlier.

‘What's the trouble?’ Dan asked.

‘You’ll know all about it in a minute or two,’ Vaughan replied.

‘Don't tell me that somebody's lodged a protest because Jerry took my car over!’ Dan exclaimed.

‘No, there's been no difficulty about that,’ Vaughan said.

‘Anyway, it would be too late to protest now,’ Evelyn added, and smiled a little as she came to Jerry's side and she spoke quietly. ‘Don't ask any more questions. Wait until Mr. Ellison comes back.’

They went on to the pit, where Dr. Relf sponged the cut on Dan's eyebrow, the driver rattling on. ‘It looks as if we've broken our run of bad luck now!’ he said. ‘We shan't have any more trouble after this, although you clearly bought a packet, Jerry, from what I could see of it! Nobody's told me what actually happened to you.’

‘He felt unwell, and tried to pull in,’ Dr. Relf commented. ‘Hold your head up a little, Dan. I want to put plaster on that cut.’

‘I hardly know what happened myself,’ Jerry answered. The two began to talk about the crash. Jerry noticed that Evelyn and Vaughan remained silent, and they were obviously waiting for Ellison to return. Departing spectators were still swarming past, and mechanics in other depots had begun to collect their pit equipment.

The French Grand Prix was over; men and machines were making ready to leave, and the crowds had thinned by the time Dr. Relf had settled a strip of plaster over Dan's eye, and Ellison appeared. He entered from the path at the back and glanced around, as if he wanted to be sure that no timekeepers or mechanics were near.

‘This is hardly the place in which to talk privately, Vaughan,’ he said, ‘but it will have to do.’ His tone made Jerry and Dan look at him, while Dr. Relf glanced up from his bag, which be was quietly repacking as he sat on one of the oil-drums that the timekeepers had used.

‘Do you want us in this private talk?’ Dan asked.

‘Yes, because it concerns you, and Jerry particularly,’ Vaughan replied. ‘He's been telling you about this smash, hasn’t he? Well, Evelyn and I have found out that someone deliberately planned to send him off the road— to make him crash like Perrugi and Thorne and the rest!’

He spoke quickly. He had wiped the dust of the race from his face, and much of his normal colour had gone. Dan sat looking at him, feeling for the pipe and pouch which he had carried with him all through the race. ‘That's sounds interesting,’ he said slowly.

‘Have you got that paper, Evelyn?’ Vaughan asked. While she drew a tinted slip from her handbag, the noise made by people and vehicles on the road came loudly through the tense quiet of the pit. Ellison remained motionless, and Relf continued packing his bag. Jerry sat on the concrete counter, looking from Evelyn to the man beside her. Vaughan glanced at the paper and read what was written there, while Dan began to push tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

Vaughan looked up. ‘Jerry, Just before you crashed, you couldn't see very well, could you?’ he asked. ‘Your eyes wouldn't focus properly, and you told Evelyn that you didn't realise you were going to hit the pits.’

‘I was surprised when I found myself right on top of them!’

‘Tim Duggan and Bill Palmer looked surprised in those photographs!’ Vaughan said quickly. ‘Something had happened to their eyes, too.’

‘Look here, Vaughan, come to the point!’ Ellison broke in, his tone impatient and concerned. ‘I don't like the sound of all this. What are you driving at?’

‘I'm going slowly, because I don't understand it all myself, as yet,’ Vaughan said. ‘But I believe I've found out what's been happening, and I know that, if things had gone as they had been planned, Jerry wouldn't be with us now. That’s what I'm driving at, Mr. Ellison!’

He smoothed out the paper, and his tone dropped again. ‘I want to get it all clearly,’ he went on. ‘It's important, you see, and I don't want to make any mistakes.’

It was plain that he would not be hurried, and they waited for him to continue. The sun came warmly into the pit, shining on the steel of scattered tools and the collared cans at the back, picking out the smooth paint work of the battered pit-signals. The light caught Vaughan's face when he began to speak again.

‘I've been told that Bill Palmer had a touch of nettle rash before he raced at Auvergne. Thorne had been drunk the night before he ran at Le Mans, Jerry had indigestion last evening— and, if you think back, you'll undoubtedly find that Perrugi and Duggan were each a little unwell the evening before they raced.’

Ellison nodded slowly, watching him, and Vaughan turned towards Dr. Relf. his voice quickening, rising.

‘You gave Jerry a pill to brace him up this morning,’ he said. ‘You did the same for the others— and the pill you gave Jerry contained hyoscine, Dr. Relf!’

The grey-haired man frowned, and his smile grew fixed, but he said nothing.

‘Hyoscine is a poison that affects the eyes, and wrecks a man's judgment of distance and timing!’

Vaughan turned to Ellison. ‘I slipped one of those pills out of Relf's phial this morning, and asked Evelyn to have it analysed before she came to the course. Here's the analyst's report.’ He held the paper out, but Relf leaned forward and jerked it from his hand. He read it, his badger-grey brows bent.

‘I don't understand all this, Vaughan!’ Ellison exclaimed. ‘You're not telling me that Relf has deliberately—’ He paused. ‘I can't believe it.’

‘The bottle with the pills is in his bag now,’ Vaughan answered. ‘The label says they're quite harmless, but I’d done some thinking about it all, and I was suspicious when I saw them. I couldn't get over the fact that the cars ran about the same distance before they left the road. And after your test at Montlhery, I knew it must be something to do with the men— not the cars. Relf wanted Jerry to have that pill just before he went to the line, but I was there, and he had to give it him while we were at the hotel. If Jerry had taken it later, he'd have crashed after a couple of hundred miles, like the others.’'

‘We should have flagged him off the course before then,’ Evelyn broke in. ‘I tried to get back in time to stop Jerry leaving, but I couldn't find an analyst, and then the traffic held me up.’

Ellison came forward, staring at Vaughan. ‘You're saying that Relf is the cause of— of everything?’ he asked.

Vaughan made no reply. He turned as the doctor himself began to speak.

‘It's all rather your own fault, my friend,’ he said. ‘I endeavoured to persuade you not to continue to race, after the cars had run at Auvergne.’ He rose from the oil drum. His smile had grown more kindly, and it held a suggestion of reproof. ‘I tried to ascribe the crashes to that curse of Perrugi,’ he went on. ‘You would pay no real heed to that, and, anyhow, it was nonsense— as I once told you, Dan!’ He turned to where the driver was sitting, watching him all the time, his unlighted pipe in his hand.

‘It was quite a simple matter for me to induce some slight indisposition which would give an excuse for administering my pills,’ Dr. Relf said. ‘Although, in Thorne's case, that was unnecessary.’

‘You gave Jerry calomel— in those sandwiches at the garage,’ Vaughan broke in.

‘Ah, an excellent diagnosis,’ Relf replied. There was in his manner, in his smile, and in the glance of his eyes, something which kept the rest tense. Dawning in Ellison's expression was a realisation which held him appalled, and he saw the same thing in Dan's face when he looked at him for a moment.

‘He must have made Thorne crash during practice,’ Evelyn whispered to Vaughan. ‘He never understood why he went off the road.’

‘You are wrong, my dear.’ Relf had caught her words. ‘He was excusing his bad driving. In any case, I did not like him, but I was rather sorry for Bill Palmer.’ He sat down on the oil drum once more. His head tilted to one tide, and his smile widened, while he laughed a little.

‘I found myself faced with quite a problem,’ he went on, and his tone became thoughtful. ‘Someone had to crash, of course, and it was difficult to decide who it should be. Dan has always treated me with great kindness, and I have excellent hopes for young Vaughan here; he should be very valuable In my profession.'' He nodded towards him. ‘So I came to the conclusion that Jerry could best be spared.’ He looked up, and smiled again. ‘I am sure you will understand, Jerry.’

His eyes twinkled under their grey brows, just as they always did when he smiled, but there was a subtle difference in them now. Evelyn shrank back and her hand reached out, seeking Jerry's. She moved a little nearer to him while Vaughan remained intent, watching the doctor as he spoke to Ellison.

‘I've worked hard, you know,' He said. ‘All my life I've served others, Ellison, and I feel that I am now entitled to a little comfort.’

They could not follow his meaning, and his thoughts seemed to have gone off at a tangent. His voice rose. ‘It is unfair that I should be deprived of my small income, and I have been completely in the right in preserving my own interests.’

‘I don't know what you're trying to say,’ Ellison answered. ‘But you— you're admitted that you tried to kill Jerry today!’

‘You mistake me,’ Dr. Relf said gently. ‘I had no desire to harm anyone, but force of circumstances brought about that result.’ His tone was argumentative new, and he was frowning again. ‘Surely you can appreciate that?’

Evelyn's fingers tightened, and she leaned nearer to Jerry watching Relf as she whispered. ‘Jerry, what's wrong with him? He's talking as if—’ Her voice dropped. ‘As if he were not sane.’

Vaughan spoke then. There was a smile on his lips, but his eyes were still intent and watchful. His voice came slowly, distinctly. ‘Dr. Relf, what made it necessary for you to do all this?’

‘I was trying to make that clear, but none of you seem to understand.’ Relf's expression grew patient and tolerant again. ‘It's quite simple, if only you will pay attention to me. Listen carefully now.’ He leaned forward, his kindly smile coming again.

‘Ellison was racing directly against the Rochelle cars, wasn't he? He wanted to beat them, and if he succeeded their sales would drop. If that happened, their profits would have lessened, and my income would have fallen, because all my money is invested in Rochelle shares. Naturally—’  He spread his hands while he looked around— ‘I could not stand idly by and lose all that I had.’

‘I didn't know you had invested in Rochelle stock,’ Ellison said slowly.

‘It is a French firm, and I made the change when I retired to live over here,’ Relf answered. His voice trailed away.

Ellison drew a deep breath as he caught Vaughan's glance. Dan slowly pushed his pipe back into his pocket.

‘In order to protect myself, I was obliged to discredit your machines, Ellison,’ Dr. Relf added, and turned to face him. ‘Of course, I might have made a change in my investments, and have sold the shares. But that would have involved a loss, and they were bringing me the income that I required. I simply defended it and you all, I am sure, appreciate the position in which I found myself.’

He smiled patiently once more. ‘There was nothing personal in it at all. it was, as I have been explaining to you, simply force of circumstances.’

‘You don't seem to realise what you've done!’ Ellison said hoarsely. ‘You've killed four men, and they—’

‘I think everything is quite clear now, Mr. Ellison,’ Vaughan broke in. ««1 looked at him warningly before he bent towards Dr. Relf and spoke quietly.

‘You did the right thing of course.’

‘Of course,’ Relf murmured, glancing from Ellison on to Dan, then to Evelyn and Jerry. ‘There was no other way for me to adopt, but I am sorry if it displeases some of you.’

He came to his feet, his eyes flashing and his manner growing angry. ‘But I can assure you that I have not enjoyed the subterfuge and deception which was necessary.’

'Don't pay any attention to them, Dr. Relf,  Vaughan said quickly.  'I understand everything. We'll drive back to Reims together, and if you wait here, I’ll bring a car round.’

‘That’s very good of you, my boy.’ The doctor smiled again, patting him an the arm. ‘I am afraid all this has rather distressed me. You must have dinner with me this evening and I'll explain to you how I made my choice from the hyoscine group. You'll find it interesting.’

He sat down again, while Vaughan glanced over his head to Jerry and Dan; both nodded, understanding that he wanted them to remain there. Vaughan stepped towards Ellison, drawing him towards the path behind the pits.

‘He deserves pity,’ he said quickly. ‘You can see what's happened, can't you? He's overworked all his life, and now he is paying for it. He's perfectly sane in everything except this one obsession, but it may not be long before he takes a different turn. We've got to get him away without upsetting him.’

Ellison listened, watching Relf, who was now fumbling with the handle of his bag, looking uncertainly at Dan. ‘His reasons and arguments are quite logical— to himself,’ Vaughan went on. ‘I'm going to ask Evelyn to telephone to Reims for me, so that everything will be ready when we get him there. And we must humour him. It will be fatal if he receives the least hint that he is going to be taken away, you understand!’

Vaughan beckoned to Evelyn. She came out at once, following Ellison when he went down the path, while Vaughan called into the pits.

‘I'll be back in two or three minutes,’ he said.

‘Thank you, my boy, thank you,’ Relf answered. He watched Vaughan go, then looked at Dan again. ‘You appreciate my reasons, don't you?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Of course I do!’ Dan spoke with an effort then slipped his arm round Relf’s shoulders. ‘Don't you worry about it, everything's all right.’

‘I can't help feeling concerned,’ the doctor answered. ‘And I don't like what Ellison said about my having killed four men. That's an absurd point of view!’ He came to his feet, peering along the path. ‘Unfortunately, there may be others just as unintelligent as Ellison.’ He turned and spoke sharply. ‘Where's Vaughan gone?’

‘He’ll be back,’ Jerry replied.

‘I don't altogether trust him,’ Dr. Relf said slowly, ‘and there is no need for him to drive me to Reims. I can bring my car around, it's parked behind the pits here.’

‘You'd better let Vaughan take you,’ Jerry suggested.

‘Why should I?' Relf demanded. ‘I'll bring the car round, and be ready when he returns.’ Dan caught him by the shoulder trying to smile. ‘You wait here with us,’ he said firmly.

Dr. Relf jerked himself free. ‘Surely I can drive my own car!’ He looked at Dan, his glance very acute and penetrating.

‘Oh, I begin to see what is in your mind,’ he said suddenly, ‘but I am perfectly justified in anything I have done. I won't be restrained by you, or anyone else.’

He began to walk down the path, while Jerry spoke. ‘We can watch him from here. His car is by our lorries, and it may be better to let him have his own way just now.’ They watched Dr. Relf slip through an opening in the fence and walk on towards his machine. He entered it and after a few moments, the engine started up.

‘I never thought things would turn out like this,’ Dan said slowly. ‘I liked him, Jerry. And I suppose Vaughan's arranging for him to be—’

‘We'll see that he's all right,’ Jerry broke in. ‘Vaughan's probably getting an ambulance from Reims.’

While he spoke, Relf's car began to move, making for a gate at the end of the replenishment depots. The two leaned over the pit counter, waiting for Relf to drive round to them. They saw the car emerge on the road, and Dan straightened suddenly when Relf turned in the opposite direction, heading towards Gueux corner.

‘What's he doing now?’ he asked, his voice startled as Dr. Relf opened the throttle, so that the machine accelerated, screaming in gear as it went away.

‘We'd better go after him.’ They turned, running along the back of the pits, where two hack cars be longing to the Ace team stood beside the lorries. Dan took the wheel of one and, as he sent it forward, they saw Ellison on the path by the pits. He came running towards them, jumping on to the footboard and climbing in as Jerry told him what had happened. Dan ran the car to the road, driving fast towards Gueux. Much of the traffic had cleared, and Relf was already out of eight. At the comer, they found that all the vehicles were being headed towards the Paris road.

‘He must have gone that way!’ Dan called. ‘He's probably making for Reims,’ Ellison added

The car climbed the hill beyond the turn, following the course that had been used during the race. Dan roared past traffic which was using the road, easing the throttle when he saw vehicles halted ahead. They had stopped abruptly, blocking the road where it curved past the edge of a great chalk pit. Drivers and passengers were out of the machines, running forward, and Ellison exclaimed as Dan checked the car.

‘I think I know what's happened!’

They climbed out. There was a break in the guard-fence about the pit, and a little crowd had gathered here, staring down. The three joined them. The sun was gleaming on the white, cliff-like sides of the pit, and water lay in a little pool at the bottom. At its far edge was Dr. Relf 's car. It had been driven straight off the road and through the fence.

Men were already climbing down towards its wreckage. Dan led the way now, and it was he who lifted Relf clear. They found his expression as kindly and as peaceful as ever it had been. Dan set him down where the grass grew, soft and green, beside the quiet water, and there was no more that he could do.

Men brought a stretcher from the aid-post at Gueux corner, and the three stood together as Relf was carried away.

‘I wonder if this is what he meant, when he said that he wouldn't be restrained by anyone?’ Jerry said.

‘Perhaps he realised that things weren't right with him,’  Dan answered. His voice became lower. ‘I think, anyway, this is best.’ His thoughts went back to the night before the race at Le Mans and be repeated the words that Dr. Relf had spoken to him then. ‘God keep you,’ Dan said, and his glance was on the stretcher.

They could do no more, and returned to the pits. Evelyn was distressed when she learned what had happened, but Vaughan assured her that Dr. Relf could not much longer have remained as they had always known him.

‘It's much better that it should have ended this way,’ he said.

‘Let's go now,’ Evelyn whispered to Jerry, then. They drove away, up the sloping road to Thillois, with Evelyn close against Jerry, not speaking as they began to descend the hill to Reims. There was little to say. There was no more mystery, and no more fear. She looked at Jerry. There was relief in her glance and in her heart, because she knew how very closely they had come to parting that day. It was good to have him near, and when he spoke he voiced her own thoughts.

‘I don't want to run any more risks of losing you,’ he said.

She smiled, and he dropped a hand from the wheel, his fingers closing over hers.

‘I want to buy you a ring, with diamonds and sapphires, so that it will look blue and white— like my 'OK' signal. Would that please you?’

She smiled again and saw, beyond him, that the setting sun caught clouds which hung high in the sky, lighting them with a gentle glow which was full of happy promise, and which made her think of the candles that burned in the Cathedral de Notre Dame, in the city that lay below the hill.

The End

(73,000 words)

Table of Contents

Prologue. The Men Who Died

1. Sun On The Circuit

3. Thundering Through Valencay

4. Wreckage

5. Third Sun

6. Shadow of Perrugi

7. Dark Horizon

8. He That Outlives This Day

9. Shall Come Safe Home