CHAPTER TWELVE
Passing Bell“‘Eerie’ is the word for it.” Gamadge hunched his shoulders and peered obstinately at the mist, which pressed against his face like damp cotton. There were no lights but his own, and these showed nothing but a few yards of soft road, and two lines of half-visible trees. “Can this be the pleasant woodland route we followed this morning?”
“It didn’t last long, you remember. We’ll soon be out of it. Don’t forget to turn left at the crossroads.”
“I won’t, if I see any crossroads.” But as he spoke the air turned fresher, and he felt a hard and greasy surface under his wheels. Lights winked feebly ahead; the mist seemed thinner, out in the open. He put on speed.
After three or four minutes, Mitchell said: “Cars coming behind. I can see them making the curve as they
