jockey in Count Tokai's racing stables, a horse went mad and kicked me
nearly to death. Then I was a racer in old bicycling days, and had
several bad spills. This scar on my face I got in a smash with one of
the first Benz cars made. My master thought it a fine thing at that
time to go ten miles an hour, and before he'd driven much, my lord,
he was determined to take the car through the streets of Düsseldorf
himself. There was a wagon coming one way----"

"Thank you," I cut in, "I'll bear the rest of that story another time.
I'm not sure it would exhilarate me much at the moment. We'll be off
now, and I'll do my best not to adorn you with a second scar."

Without another word, Gotteland started the motor. The critical eyes
of the assembled chauffeurs pierced to my marrow, but I squared my
shoulders, prayed my presence of mind to behave itself and not get
stage fright; then--_noblesse oblige!_--we swept in a creditable curve
to the door of the garage, and out in fine style. Gotteland also tried
to look unconcerned. I think I must have seen this with my ears, as
both eyes were fully occupied in searching a way through the surging
current of street traffic, but I did see it. I was pleased to find
that I was the better actor of the two, for Gotteland's attitude
revealed a strained alertness. He was like a woman sitting beside a
driver of skittish horses, saying to herself: "No, I _won't_ scream or
seize the reins till I must!"

A sneaking impulse pricked me to take the easiest way, by the Rue de
Rivoli, and across the Place de la Concorde, but I shook myself free
of it, and with high resolve turned the car towards the Boulevards,
determined that, if Molly won her bet, it should be well won. A sailor
steering a quivering smack towards harbour in a North Sea hurricane;