Beyond the mist help was racing over the pallid roads, headlamps spouting light, tyres whistling and two hands holding the wheel in an iron grip, two eyes boring into the darkness, cold, sure—the eyes of my comrade. . .
I learned afterwards from Jaffe how it had been.
Immediately, upon my call, Koster had rung Lenz and told him to hold himself in readiness.
Then he had got Karl and with Lenz raced to Jaffe's clinic.
The nurse on duty there thought the professor had gone out for supper. She gave Koster the names of a few likely places.
Koster set off.
He ignored all traffic signals—he took no heed of gesticulating policemen.
He steered the car through the traffic like a runaway horse.
At the fourth restaurant he found the professor.
Jaffe "remembered at once. He left his meal unfinished and came.
They drove to his house for the necessary things.
And this was the only stretch where Koster drove merely fast, and did not race.
He did not want to alarm the doctor beforehand.
On the way Jaffe asked where Pat was.
Koster named a place some forty kilometres out.
He meant to get the professor into the car first.
The rest would take care of itself.
While packing his case Jaffe gave Lenz instructions as to what he should telephone.
Then he got in with Koster.
"Is it dangerous?" asked Koster.
"Yes," said Jaffe.
From that moment Karl was transformed into a flying white ghost.
With a bound he leapt from the start and swept away.
He forced a way through, rode with two wheels on the footway, dashed contrariwise up one-way streets, seeking the shortest way out of the city.
"Are you crazy?" shouted the professor as Koster shot out from under the high fenders of a bus, slackened an instant, then let the engine roar again.
"Drive slower," bawled the professor, "what good will it do if we have an accident?"
"We won't have an accident."
"We will, inside two minutes, if you go on driving like this."
Koster swung the car to the left past an electric tram.
"We won't!"
He now had to negotiate a long street.
He looked at the doctor.
"I know I must get you there safely.
You leave the rest to me."
"But what's the point of racing?
You'll only save a few minutes."
"No," said Koster, dodging a lorry laden with ballast; "we have still two hundred and forty kilometres."
"What?" "Yes . . ."
The car darted between a mail van and a motorbus. . . . "I didn't want to tell you before."
"It would have made no difference," growled Jaffe. "I don't reckon my services by kilometres.
Drive to the railway station.
It will be quicker by train."
"No." Koster had reached the suburbs.
The wind snatched the words from his mouth. "Asked about that already—train leaves too late."
He looked at Jaffe again. The doctor probably saw something in his face.
"Is she your girl?" he shouted.
Koster shook his head.
He answered no more questions.
He had now left the allotment gardens behind and was entering the open country.
The car was travelling at top speed.