"Why not let me drive?" said a girl's half-sarcastic voice. "I've driven
a Vauxhall most of the winter."

Buntingford turned, smiling but uncertain.

"Of course! I had forgotten! But I don't like taking you into danger,
Helena. It sounds like an ugly affair!"

"Lodge and I will go with her," said French, eagerly. "We can stop the
car outside the town. Horne can go with Dale."

The eyes of the men were on the girl in white--men half humiliated, half
admiring. Helena, radiant, was looking at Buntingford, and at his
reluctant word of assent, she began joyously taking the hat-pins out of
her white lace hat.

"Give me five minutes to change. Lucky I've got my uniform here! Then
I'll go for the car."

Within the five minutes she was in the garage in full uniform, looking
over and tuning up the car, without an unnecessary word. She was the
professional, alert, cheerful, efficient--and handsomer than ever,
thought French, in her close-fitting khaki.

"One word, Helena," said Buntingford, laying a hand on her arm, when all
was ready, and she was about to climb into her seat. "Remember I am in
command of the expedition--and for all our sakes there must be no divided
authority. You agree?"