nyone but an idiot would have
registered it from Cherbourg. Almost wish we'd stuck to the main road.
There'd have been some traffic there. Damn all motorists who're in bed
tonight."

Very faintly through the thin night air came the throb of an engine.

Flora clutched his arm.

"D'you hear?"

"They're coming."

"That's no Ford," she said. "It's coming from over there." And she
pointed toward Oxshott.

"You're right," said Anthony. "Got your gun--give it to me."

"What for?"

"Because that car is going to stop whether it wants to or not."

Flora clapped her hands ecstatically.

"Oh, let me hold 'em up," she pleaded.

"No fear. You've risked enough already. Run round the bend and meet
'em. If they won't pull up for you they will for me."

He took the pistol from Flora and planted himself squarely in the
middle of the road.

"Off you go." And she went.

Through the darkness ahead came patterns of light making black lace of
the twigs and branches. He heard Flora cry "Stop--stop," and the
squawk of a Claxon horn. But still the car came on. It swung round
the curve and made directly for him, flooding him in light from the
heads.

It wanted some nerve to stand there, but nerve was a quality possessed
by Anthony Barraclough. He never moved an inch and in his left hand
held the pistol levelled at the approaching car.

"I'll fire," he cried.

He saw the driver snatch at his brakes, the steel studs tore up the
surface of the road as the car, a small two-seater, came to a
standstill within a foot of where he stood.

Then happened an amazing thing. A woman sprang out and ran toward him
crying:

"Anthony--you!"

His eyes were dazzled by the head lights, but his memory for voices was
not dulled. He leapt back a clear five feet and presented the pistol
full in her face.

"I know you," he said. "You're Auriole Craven. But if you or any of
that damn crowd try to stop me----"

"No, no, no," she cried. "I'm with you--not against. What on earth
are you doing here?"

"Doing? I'd almost done it. Smashed up in the final sprint. I want a
seat in your car. Must get to London tonight."

"To London. No. It wouldn't be safe--it wouldn't be fair."

"Fair! You don't understand--don't realise--there are millions of
pounds at stake."

"I don't care if there are hundreds of millions," she retorted. "The
car is only a two-seater and slow at that. There are two of us already
and----"

He i