"Stick at it," Gerald cried, rising in his place a little. "Look, there's only one post lower than the last one that we passed. They get higher all the time, ahead. You can almost see the road in front there. Now, in with your gear again, and stick at it."
Another wave broke, this time completely over them. They listened with strained ears - the engine continued to beat. They still moved slowly. Then there was a shock. The wheel had struck something in the road - a great stone or rock. The chauffeur thrust the car out of gear. The engine still beat. Gerald leaped from the car. The water was over his knees. He crossed in front of the bonnet and stooped down.
"I've got it!" he exclaimed, tugging hard. "It's a stone."
He moved it, rolled it on one side, and pushed at the wheel of the car as his companion put in the speed. They started again. He jumped back his place.
"We've done it, all right!" he cried. "Don't you see? It's getting lower all the time."
The chauffeur had lost his nerve. His cheeks were pale, his teeth were chattering. The engine, however, was still beating. Gradually the pressure of the water grew less. In front of them they caught a glimpse of the road. They drew up at the top of a little bridge over one of the dikes. Gerald uttered a brief exclamation of triumph.
"We're safe!" he almost sobbed. "There's the road, straight ahead and round to the right. There's no more water anywhere near."
They had left the main part of the flood behind them. There were still great pools in the side of the road, and huge masses of seaweed had been carried up and were lying in their track. There was no more water, however. At every moment they drew nearer to the strangely-shaped hill with its crown of trees.
"The house is on the other side," Gerald pointed out. "We can go through the lodge gates at the back here. The ascent isn't so steep."
They turned sharply to the right, along another stretch of straight road set with white posts, ending before a red brick lodge and a closed gate. They blew the horn and a gardener came out. He gazed at them in amazement.
"It's all right," Gerald cried. "Let us through quickly, Foulds.
We've a gentleman in behind who's ill."
The man swung open the gate with a respectful salute. They made their way up a winding drive of considerable length, and at last they came to a broad, open space almost like a platform. On their left were the marshes, and beyond, the sea. Along their right stretched the long front of an Elizabethan mansion. They drew up in front of the hail door. Their coming had been observed, and servants were already waiting. Gerald sprang to the ground.
"There's a gentleman in behind who's ill," he explained to the butler. "He has met with an accident on the way. Three or four of you had better carry him up to a bedroom - any one that is ready.
And you, George," he added, turning to a boy, "get into the car and show this man the way round to the garage, and then take him to the servants' hall."
Several of the servants hastened to do his bidding, and Gerald did his best to answer the eager but respectful stream of questions.
And then, just as they were in the act of lifting the still unconscious man on to the floor of the hall, came a queer sound - a shrill, reverberating whistle. They all looked up the stairs.
"The master is awake," Henderson, the butler, remarked, dropping his voice a little.
Gerald nodded.
"I will go to him at once," he said.
