very moment is full of
danger. There is a warrant out for your arrest! The police know that
you intended to go to Nice and they are watching for you on the Corniche
road. But we will try to get into Italy. You are an invalid, remember!
You'll find in the car a few things with which you can make up to look
the part. You are an American subject and a cripple, who cannot leave
the car when the customs officers search it. Now, signore, let's be off
and trust to our good fortune in getting away. I will tell the officers
of the _dogana_ at Ventimiglia a good story--trust me! I haven't been
smuggling backwards and forwards for ten years without knowing the
ropes!"

"But where are we going?" asked Hugh bewildered.

"You, signore, are going to prison if we fail on this venture, I fear,"
was the rough-looking driver's reply.

So urged by him Hugh got into the car, and then they drove swiftly along
the sea-road of the littoral towards the rugged Italian frontier.

Hugh Henfrey was going forth to face the unknown.

SEVENTH CHAPTER

FROM DARK TO DAWN

In the darkness the car went swiftly through Mentone and along the steep
winding road which leads around the rugged coast close to the sea--the
road over the yellow rocks which Napoleon made into Italy.

Presently they began to ascend a hill, a lonely, wind-swept highway with
the sea plashing deep below, when, after a sudden bend, some lights came
into view. It was the wayside Italian Customs House.

They had arrived at the frontier.

Hugh, by the aid of a flash-lamp, had put on a grey moustache and
changed his clothes, putting his own into the suit case wherein he had
found the suit already prepared for him. He had wrapped himself up in
a heavy travelling-rug, and by his side reposed a pair of crutches, so
that when they drew up before the little roadside office of the Italian
_dogana_ he was reclining upon a cushion presenting quite a pathetic
figure.

But who had made all these preparations for his flight?

He held his breath as the chauffeur sounded his horn to announce his
arrival. Then the door opened, shedding a long ray of light across the
white dusty road.

"_Buona sera, signore_!" cried the chauffeur merrily, as a Customs
officer in uniform came forward. "Here's my driving licence and papers
for the car. And our two passports."

The man took them, examined them by the light of his electric torch, and
told the chauffeur to go into the office for the vis