"Does it!" the chauffeur grunted. "It's under water more than half
the way, and Heaven knows how deep it is at the sides! I'm not
going to risk my life along there. I am going to take the car back
to Holt."

His hand was already upon the reverse lever, but Gerald gripped it.

"Look here," he protested, "we haven't come all this way to turn back.
You don't look like a coward."

"I am not a coward, sir," was the quiet answer. "Neither am I a
fool. I don't see any use in risking our lives and my master's
motor-car, because you want to get home."

"Naturally," Gerald answered calmly, "but remember this. I am
responsible for your car--not you. Mr. Fentolin is my uncle."

The chauffeur nodded shortly.

"You're Mr. Gerald Fentolin, aren't you, sir?" he remarked. "I
thought I recognised you."

"I am," Gerald admitted. "We've had a rough journey, but it doesn't
seem sense to turn back now, does it, with the house in sight?"

"That's all very well, sir," the chauffeur objected doubtfully, "but
I don't believe the road's even passable, and the floods seem to me
to be rising."