I pocketed the notes.
"Stop now," whispered Bieling. "No more." He had red spots on his cheeks.
I pushed ten marks into his hand.
Gustav grinned and punched me in the ribs.
"You see, what did I tell you?
You've only to listen to Gustav to shovel up money."
I refrained from reminding the ex-Sergeant Stretcher-Bearer of Gipsy II.
He appeared to have made his own reflections on that matter.
"Let's go," said he. "To-day's not a good day for artists."
At the door someone plucked me by the sleeve.
It was Slippery Liz.
"What's your tip for the Maslowski Benefit race?" he asked, with covetous respect.
"O Tannenbaum," said I, and went with Gustav to the nearest pub to drink a glass to the health of L'Heure Bleue.
An hour later I had lost thirty marks again.
I could not leave well alone.
But then I did stop.
As I went Bieling thrust a card into my hand.
"If you ever want anything . . .
Or your friends.
I'm the representative." It was an advertisement for home cinemas. "I also negotiate the sale of left-off clothing," he called after me. "Cash."
About seven o'clock I returned to the workshop.
Karl was standing in the yard roaring.
"Lucky you came, Bob," called Koster. "We're just going to run him in.
Come."
The entire firm was standing by.
Otto had changed and improved several details about Karl, because he wanted to enter him for a mountain climb in a fortnight's time.
The first trial run was about to take place.
We climbed in.
Jupp sat beside Koster, his immense goggles in front of his face.
It would have broken his heart not to come.
Lenz and I got in behind.
Karl darted off.
We reached the long by-pass and opened out to a hundred and forty kilometres.
Lenz and I huddled close under the back rests of the seats in front; it was a wind to blow your head off.
The poplars on either side bolted past and the wonderful sound of the engine thrilled in us like the wild cry of freedom.
A quarter of an hour later we sighted ahead a black point which rapidly grew larger.
It was a fairly heavy car travelling at a speed of between eighty and a hundred kilometres.
It was not holding the road particularly well, but swayed to and fro.
The track was rather narrow. Koster accordingly slackened speed.
When we were about a hundred metres distant and about to hoot, we suddenly saw a motorcyclist approaching from the right on a side road; immediately he vanished behind a haystack just before the crossing.
"God! That's done it," called Lenz.
At the same moment a motorcyclist appeared on the road, twenty metres in front of the car.
He had apparently underestimated the car's speed and was now trying to get past by sweeping round in front of it.
The car pulled sharply to the left to get out of the way, but the motorcycle also now lurched to the left.
The car was again jerked to the right, and the mudguard brushed the cycle, which flung round.
The cyclist shot head over heels onto the road.
The car skidded, failed to right itself, tore down the signpost, smashed a lamp standard and finally crashed into a tree.
It all happened in a couple of seconds.
The next moment we, at our high speed, had already caught up with it; the tyres snarled, Koster steered Karl through like a horse among the cyclists, the bicycle, and the puffing car, now standing crosswise on the road; on the left he just missed the cyclist's hand, and on the right the carrier of the car; then the engine roared, Karl pulled again into the straight, the brakes shrieked, and all was still.
"Well done, Otto," said Lenz.