lack hood and the black wings of its splash-boards, it was some terrible
and sinister and malignant monster of prey hunting down Viola. Its body
had been built, its engines had been forged, to hunt down Viola. The
infernal thing had been invented to hunt down Viola.

Somewhere between Petworth and Fittleworth Kendal stopped to water his
engine. It was then that we noticed how the gathering heat was piled into
a bank of cloud over the east. At the back of our necks we could feel a
little hot puff of wind that came up from the west.

"Shouldn't wonder if there was a storm," said Kendal. He added, with the
ghost of a grin, "If Mr. Jevons sees that cloud, sir, he'll not wire to
be met at Midhurst. He'd crawl home on his 'ands and knees first."

He slipped into his seat and we dashed on.

At Fittleworth, within a stone's-throw of the railway and the road, there
is a patch of moor where the ground rises in a hillock. In July and
August when the heather's out this hillock is a crimson landmark above
the water meadows.

When we came within sight of it Kendal suddenly slowed down, then jammed
his brakes hard, and with an awful grinding and snorting the car came to
a stand-still.

Kendal stood up. He muttered something about being blowed. Then he
turned.

"Got the glasses there, sir?"

I found the glasses, but I didn't give them to Kendal. I stood up too and
looked through them.

I couldn't see anything at first.

"There, sir," said Kendal, pointing. "No. You're looking too much to the
left. You got to get right o' thet sandy patch--against thet there clump
of heather. Now d'you see, sir?"

I did.

Kendal had made out with the naked eye a figure, the figure of a woman,
seated on the hillside, a white figure that showed plainly against the
red background of the heather.

"It's Mrs. Jevons, sir," he stated.

It was.

I could see her quite distinctly through the field-glasses. She was
sitting on the clump of heather to the right of the sandy patch, settled
and motionless, in the attitude of one who waited at her ease, with hours
before her. And she was alone.

We went on as far as we could towards the moor. Norah and I left the car
and struck across the moor by the sandy track that led to the bare patch
and the clump of heather.

The seated figure must have been aware of us from the first moment of our
approach. You couldn't miss that black and white car as it charged along
the highway, or as it stood now, wit