“It’s quite ten minutes since Bob left,” murmured Cyril. “Where can he have gone?”
Patrick was becoming more and more benumbed. He had no desire to speak now. His head buzzed; his thoughts wandered. But one sentence came uppermost in his mind: “There are times when no one but God can help us. His help is never denied to the one who asks with all his heart.” He could not remember who had spoken those words. It might be cowardly, but nevertheless he would pray ...
Suddenly a car door slammed; a light appeared. There were voices, then a loud barking, and an enormous dog bounded upon Patrick, who promptly fainted.
While his chums waited in such anxiety, Simon had not been wasting time. Waving his flashlight he posted himself in the middle of the road to force the first car to stop. Once seated in a car he had begged a ride to the next village. To run to the inn and telephone to the Berger’s was the work of moments. But what was his dismay on learning that Philip was out!
“Where has he gone, Madam? I am a friend of Patrick’s. It is absolutely necessary for me to contact him.”
“He went skiing with his brothers this afternoon, to Grandmont I think, but I don’t know where to reach him.”
“To Grandmont!” exclaimed Simon, “but we’ve just come from there. Excuse me, I am going to try to reach him at the restaurant. Tell me quickly the number of his car. Thank you!” and he hung up the phone without more explanation. At once he phoned the Grandmont restaurant, but after a delay which seemed endless, the proprietor declared that there were now only three cars outside, and none had the number mentioned. Simon sat down, in the depths of despair. What more could he do? To whom could he go?
The manageress, noting his abstracted air, asked if he had been able to contact his friend.
“No,” said Simon. “Please, Madame, do help me. We have had an accident. One of my friends has broken his leg and two others are unconscious. Have you a car here? Could anyone come with me to get them?”
“Why ever didn’t you say this sooner?” cried the good woman, much alarmed. “I’ll go and tell my husband.”
Ten minutes later a car, furnished with a makeshift stretcher, was driven by the innkeeper cautiously up the winding road through ever-deepening snow. His son and Simon were with him. The latter had confessed all to the kindly man who, thinking him sufficiently punished, had spared him any reproaches, but told his wife to inform the police at Montval without delay.
“Will you recognize the place in this blizzard?” asked the man. “I stuck up a ski at the side of the road to help me,” answered Simon.
The snow fell so fast driven by the wind, that the boy, though straining his eyes, could only see a white tornado against a black background. “I ought to have told Bob to stay on the road,” he thought. The travelers reached the pass without finding the least trace of the scene of the accident.
“We must go down again,” said the innkeeper, “and when you think we are near the place, you two must get out and walk. Perhaps you’ll hear voices that are now drowned by the noise of the car.”
A few minutes later they stopped and the two boys faced the elements while the car went on slowly before them. The dense snowfall forced Simon and his companion to grope along, bending forward to keep their balance. Simon tried to shout, but without much hope of being heard. Suddenly the car ahead of them stopped abruptly, and they saw, halted beside the road, an empty car with one door open. A loud barking and confused sounds of voices and groaning met their ears.
“It’s them!” cried Simon, heedless of grammar. “Someone or other has started to help them up the bank. Wait for me, I’ll run and meet them.” An enormous dog almost upset Simon, as he shone his flashlight on a procession just struggling up the slope. A voice called to him: “Come here! Show us your light up to the car.” Simon recognized Cyril being carried by two strangers.
“It’s Patrick’s friend,” murmured Bob. “Just think, what luck! The first car I stopped was Philip Berger’s!”
One by one, the injured boys were placed in the two cars, and the stretcher was needed for Patrick, who was still unconscious. While this was going on, the police car arrived. Two officers got out and went to examine the surroundings and to question Bob, the fittest of the party. It was snowing so hard that the interrogation was brief. Abandoning to its sad fate the unfortunate van of Mr. Mollet, the three cars set off into the storm. Simon, Cyril and Bob were in the police car; none of them spoke a word. All Simon’s boldness had evaporated.
“This is a fine New Year’s Day for your parents!” cried one of the officers. “A car to pay for, their boys in prison or hospital; some injured, perhaps even dead, on your consciences. That’s nothing to be proud of!” A jolt of the car made Cyril cry out in pain. The officer did not pity him. “This is what comes of stealing other people’s goods, you young jailbirds!”
“We meant to return the car,” meekly remonstrated Simon.
“Return it, indeed! I laugh at your good intentions. You have stolen that car, you have smashed it up; you have risked your lives and the lives of others, and why? For a few hours of pleasure on the snow - is that worth all the trouble? And it’s not the first time you’ve been caught, Danton and Round. A second offense is serious. You know what’s waiting for you; nothing short of prison.”
With sinking hearts the three boys awaited the end of their journey. For the moment they almost wished they were again in the freezing solitude with the damaged van. What sort of reception would they get? What would be done to them?