This book is a little bonkers.
@Tigus, I believe this is the famous wheelchair scene you mentioned:
But my attention was on other matters.
To have a half-filled whisky bottle fired at your head is enough to destroy the composure of even the noblest Roman.
The bottle whizzed past the head of Sir Henry Merrivale, and fell between Superintendent Craft and Paul Ferrars as they came pelting round the side of the house. Ferrars, who was carrying a suit of clothes across his arm, stumbled over it.
As it flew, H.M. put his hands up instinctively to shield his face. The steering-handle, left to its own devices, brought the chair round in a broad curve; and the motor, as though inspired by a diabolical life of its own, put on the burst of speed which made him travel as steadily as an express-train straight towards the brink of the cliff.
‘Turn it!’ Ferrars was screaming. ‘Turn it! Mind the cliff! For God’s sake mind the –’
What saved H.M.’s life, undoubtedly, was the softness of the soil and his own weight. Two deep grooves followed his jolting and bouncing passage across the earth. The crutch flew out of his hand. The motor coughed and died. The chair lurched, sank deeper, put on a last burst of speed; and then came to rest, deliberately, on the very edge of the cliff. His sandalled feet, in fact, stuck out over nothingness.
Then there was silence, under the warm sunlight.