his battered soft hat set jauntily
upon the back of his head, his gay-colored neckkerchief streaming in
the wind.

The car kept to the avenue for a long time; but finally in the far
suburbs it made a sharp turn to the left and a few miles further on
shot into a broad highway that ran parallel with the railroad.

Bending forward so as to offer the least resistance to the wind, the
Italian's swarthy face relaxed at this; his fine white teeth showed in
a smile.

"Cordova, I think," muttered he, in very good English. "If not, then
somewhere very near to it."

Once upon the highway, which was hard, level and practically deserted,
the Maillard increased its speed. Eddies of dust curled in its wake;
its hum resembled that of a gigantic top; its shining brass and smooth
gloss made it look like a streak of light. But the motor cycle was of
the best; its compact, powerful mechanism answered bravely to each
call that was made upon it by the dark-faced man in the saddle; its
explosions had merged into one long volley.

At a small and not very firm-looking bridge the Maillard slowed down;
apparently for the first time Miss Vale heard the cycle in the rear,
for she turned and gave it a quick look. But the dust of her own
progress hung thickly in the air and she could not see very clearly.
Passing the bridge at a low rate of speed, she turned again. The dark
face of the rider, his battered hat and flying 'kerchief seemed to
satisfy her; for once more she gave attention to her course, and again
the car increased its speed. A mile or two further on there was a
rather broken stretch of road and she was forced to slow down. As the
sound of her own vehicle diminished, she, as before, caught the
volleying of the motor cycle; and as she turned the eyes that looked
through the veil were intent and searching.

This time she appeared not so well satisfied, for upon reaching the
end of the broken stretch, she drew her car to one side and stopped.
As the hammering explosions of the motor cycle grew plainer and
plainer she sat rigidly erect upon her seat, her face turned directly
ahead. But a close observer would have noted a slow movement of her
right hand among the folds of the dust coat; and if he was also an
experienced observer he would have immediately understood that Miss
Vale did not venture alone and unarmed upon the road.

However, the Italian never even gave her a glance as he came up; his
machine flew by with a swirl, amid a