"I have shown him into the library."

Mr. Fielding appeared to hesitate for a moment.

"It is the man who wants to sell us the car," he exclaimed, turning
towards the girl, "but I haven't even seen it yet. Better tell him to
wait for a quarter of an hour," he added, turning towards the footman.
"I'll just drive down to the lodge gates and back. Come along, Sybil."

She followed him to the front door. A man was seated at the wheel of the
motor car, and turned his head quickly as they approached. Mr. Fielding
nodded pleasantly, though his face was white with excruciating pain.

"Kept you waiting, I'm afraid," he said. "Can you drive at all in a wind
like this?"

"Jump in, sir, and see," the man answered. "Is the young lady coming?"

Mr. Fielding nodded, and stepped into the front seat. The girl was
already in the tonneau. The man slipped in his clutch, and they glided
round the broad, circular sweep in front of the entrance. Just as they
started the wagonette drew up.

"We sha'n't be more than a few minutes," Mr. Fielding cried out, waving
his hand. "Sorry you've lost your day's sport."

"Hold on a minute, and I'll come with you," Runton called out. "That car
looks like going."

But Mr. Fielding did not hear.

* * * * *

Duncombe, who had returned from the park by the fields, was crossing the
road to enter his own gates, when a black speck far away on the top of
the hill attracted his attention. He stood still gazing at it, and was
instantly aware that it was approaching him at an almost incredible
speed. It gathered shape swiftly, and he watched it with a fascination
which kept him rooted to the spot. Above the wind he could hear the
throbbing of its engines. He saw it round a slight curve in the road,
with two wheels in the air, and a skid which seemed for a moment as
though it must mean destruction. Mud and small stones flew up around it.
The driver was crouching forward over the wheel, tense and motionless.
Duncombe moved to the side of the road to let it pass, with a little
exclamation of anger.

Then it came more clearly into sight, and he forgot his anger in his
amazement. The seat next the driver was occupied by a man leaning far
back, whose face was like the face of the dead. Behind was a solitary
passenger. She was leaning over, as though trying to speak to her
companion. Her hair streamed wild in the wind, and on her face was a
look of blank and fearful terror. Dunc