"Try it," the young man begged. "Look here, I don't want to bribe
you, or anything of that sort. You know you're coming out of this
well. It's a serious matter for me, and I shan't be likely to forget
it. I want to take this gentleman to St. David's Hall and not to
a hospital. You've brought me here so far like a man. Let's go
through with it. If the worst comes to the worst, we can both swim,
I suppose, and we are not likely to get out of our depth."

The chauffeur moved his head backwards.

"How about him?"

"He must take his chance," Gerald replied. "He's all right where
he is. The car won't upset and there are plenty of people who'll
see if we get into trouble. Come, let's make a dash for it."

The chauffeur thrust in his clutch and settled himself down. They
glided off along that winding stretch of road. To its very edge,
on either side of them, so close that they could almost touch it,
came the water, water which stretched as far as they could see,
swaying, waveless, sinister-looking. Even Gerald, after his first
impulse of wonder, kept his eyes averted and fixed upon the road
ahead. Soon they reached a place where the water met in front.
There were only the rows of white palings on either side to guide
them. The chauffeur muttered to himself as he changed to his first
speed.

"If the engine gets stopped," he said, "I don't know how we shall
get out of this."