after two years of peace and the memory of the little chips of flying
woodwork flicked from the bows of the dingy as he had pulled out into
the river was distinctly discouraging. Whoever fired the shots had a
pretty knack with a rifle. It was the whirr of a bullet just over his
head persuaded him to put back to port. After that the firing ceased.
As he dragged the almost foundering dingy on to the mud a fast motor
launch went scurrying down stream with a man on deck who shouted, "Go
home."

But Anthony was not the type of man to turn back. Opposition sterned
his resolve. Besides he had a pretty sure conviction that they did not
mean to kill him. Very much the reverse. Were he to be dying of a
sickness he felt certain they would dispatch to his bedside the finest
physicians of the land. The problem was how to escape their unwelcome
attentions and so far it had proved a problem without solution.

They were speeding along the Caledonian Road when the driver leaned out
to ask where he should drive. The man on the top of the cab caught the
answer "Hendon Aerodrome" and smiled because he admired a tryer.

"Better wait till we get to a quieter part," he reflected.

The taxi proceeded until at last the houses of Golders Green ran out
into the fields near The Welsh Harp. Then very cautiously he spread
out at full length and reached out his hand for the knee joint of the
hood stay. The one on the right broke easily but the left was stiffer
and bit his finger as the joint gave. He had already loosened the
little clip hooks that secured the hood frame to the permanent
structure. There was room for a knife blade where the frames united
and they had slipped back easily. Holding the hood in position with
his left hand the adventurous passenger produced a neat automatic with
his right. Then he gave the hood a shove and presented the pistol at
Barraclough's head. And since it is not in the realms of common
occurrence for the tops to fly off cabs and reveal armed desperadoes no
one will blame Barraclough for the views he expressed upon the subjects.

"Keep sweet," said the loafer in a very agreeable tone of voice when
Barraclough had exhausted his first inspiration. "And if you'll keep
your hands in your lap I'll come and sit beside you."

Never for an instant while this agile individual transferred himself
from the roof of the cab to the interior did the caressing muzzle of
the pistol waver from its mark.

"Sorr