So we had a clear start and led them a dance in and out among boulders
and the branches of a watercourse, Jeremy galloping ahead to spy a
course out. Whenever they came in view we acted a little piece for
them, making Rene wave the white cloth while I protected him and held
off Mabel and Grim, who went through the motions of trying to brain me
with pistol butts.
Two or three times they opened fire, more by way of forcing a surrender,
I think, than with any intention of hitting us; they wanted to take
Feisul alive. It was like a game of fox and geese, and with Jeremy
scouting ahead we could have kept them dodging us for hours if we hadn't
run out of gas.
Then we abandoned the car and took refuge in a cave that stank as if it
had been a tomb for generations. The French drew up their cars fifty
yards away with machine-guns covering the cave mouth; and after we were
sure they weren't going to squirt a stream of lead at us, I went out
with the tablecloth to negotiate terms.
I didn't want to go, but Grim seemed to think they'd understand my
French.
Of course, there wasn't anything really to argue about, but I played for
time, because every minute was of value to the real Feisul, speeding on
his way to British territory.
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