"If they're really bound for Genoa, we can catch them and to spare--bar
accidents," said Tinker cheerfully. "Besides, M. Lautrec will have
wired to look out for them." And he set the car going.
"Oh, they're bound for Genoa, sure enough," said Sir Tancred. "But
they won't enter it in that carriage, or much before daybreak. Still
the rascals don't know that you've come, Mr. Rainer, and that we're
already on their track. That ought to spoil their game."
The car ran through Mentone, and into Ventimiglia, but as it drew near
the custom-house, Sir Tancred cried, "By Jove, we're going to be
delayed! The guard's turned out!" And sure enough, a dozen soldiers
barred the road.
Tinker stopped the car: and a sergeant bade Sir Tancred and Mr. Rainer
come with him to the officer in command. Tinker gave his father the
pocketbook which contained their passports; the two of them got out of
the car, and followed the sergeant into the custom-house.
Tinker jumped down, and sure that he had plenty of time, looked at the
machinery and filled up the petrol tank from a gallon tin in the back
of the car. Then he went back to his seat.
He could hear a murmur of voices from the custom-house, and it grew
louder and louder; he caught disjointed scraps of angry talk.
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