The car was tilted forward and to the left. After two steps, his feet plunged suddenly into deeper snow and started to slip. He caught at the angle of windscreen and bonnet, pulled himself up, turned his back to the driving snow so that he might breathe more easily, and wiped the cold encrustation from his eyelashes. He gathered that in pulling blindly to the left he had driven into a ditch which was in any case concealed by the snow that filled it. Since he had sunk at low speed into a sort of cushion, he doubted whether the car had received more than superficial damage, even if so much. But the very downy stuff which had acted as shock absorber made it impossible to pull out, and at every moment was piling deeper. What was worse, the snow and the darkness made hopeless a search for wood, old bramble, anything that might be flung down to give purchase to the back wheels.

The road was lonely, unclassified. The chance of someone coming now, in either direction, was remote; their ability, in the event, to help him, not worth counting on. If he sat in the car he would soon be snowed under. There was only one thing to be done. He must walk back to A260 in the hope that traffic would still be passing along it and that someone would give him a lift.

He brought his wrist close to his eyes and looked at the pale marks of his watch. Quarter past four. He opened the rear door, leaned across the seat to get the map, and shone his torch on it. His heart sank. Even if he were lucky enough to pick up a lift as soon as he reached the main road and were driven quickly to Canterbury—which meant, in such weather, at an average twenty—could he hope to be at Richborough in time? Six-thirty sharp, Pink had said. He doubted if he could do it.

He sat down on the edge of the seat, the map dangling from his hand and felt himself dredged by disappointment and despair. Deprived of a car of his own, he had realised that he must abandon the chase of Majendie. Now, it seemed, he would be forced to give up not only that, but the thing from which only his obstinate determination to follow Majendie had held him.

With an effort he pulled himself together, stuffed the map and torch into his pocket, removed the key, and climbed out of the car. He slammed the door, not without a sense of bidding good riddance to the contraption which had failed him, and set himself to retrace his route.