"Not half a second's stop all the way.
We should have been far beyond Minehead by this time, if it hadn't been for the break-down.

We were racing from London to the Land's End,--but we took a wrong turning just before we came to Cleeve----" "Oh! Took a wrong turning, did you ?" And Tom leaned a little forward as though to hear more accurately.

His face had grown deadly pale again, and he breathed quickly.
"Yes.

We found ourselves quite close to Cleeve Abbey, but we didn't stop to see old ruins this time, you bet! We just tore down the first lane we saw running back into the highroad,--a pretty steep bit of ground too--and, by Jove!--didn't we whizz round the corner at the bottom! That was a near shave, I can tell you!" "Ay, ay!" said Tom slowly, listening with an air of profound interest.
"You've got a smart chauffeur, no doubt!" "No chauffeur at all!" declared Brookfield, emphatically.

"His lordship drives his car himself." There followed an odd silence.