hen the voice of
Richard Frencham Altar replied: "Yes, I have." The sand-bag descended
on the top of his head directed by a full arm swing. A dazzling
procession of stars floated before his eyes as though he were plunged
into the very heart of the milky-way--flashed and faded into velvet
black insensibility.

From behind heralded by a beam of light and the squawk of a horn, came
a crash as the Ford Car hit the tar barrel end on. Its front axle went
back ten inches and the rear wheels rose upward. Two shadowy forms,
that were groundlings at another time, took wings and flew in a neat
parabola over the windscreen, striking the metal surface of the road
with a single thud. They made no effort to rise, but lay in awkward
sprawling attitudes as though in the midst of violent activity they had
fallen asleep.

Richard Frencham Altar stood alone, blinking rather stupidly at the
havoc he had wrought. It was such a relief when Flora stole out of the
shadow of the trees and came toward him.

"What a shemozzle, isn't it?" he said dazedly. "I think we'd better
get out of this, don't you?"

He wheeled the motor cycle into the centre of the road and bade her
jump up behind.

Folks who were returning home late that night were astonished to see a
hatless man with a white unshaved face tearing through the side streets
of the south-west district of London on a motor cycle with a pretty,
but very dishevelled maiden clinging on to the Flapper bracket and
deliriously shouting apparently for no better reason than joy of speed.

An old gentleman who signed himself "Commonsense" wrote to the papers
about it next day and expressed his disgust in no measured terms.

CHAPTER 34.

THE FINISHING STRAIGHT.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Torrington. "We have an important decision to
make. Barraclough is on his way home, presumably with the concession
in his pocket. Our opponents have made certain dispositions to prevent
his safe arrival--those dispositions they are prepared to remove in
consideration of a third interest."

Cassis snorted violently. Actual propinquity with danger, the clash of
mind against mind had in a large measure restored his self-possession.

"Preposterous," he ejaculated.

Hilbert Torrington continued.

"It rests with us to decide whether or no we will accept their terms or
take a chance."

"Don't forget the chance is Barraclough," cried Cranbourne, then
swinging round on Hipps, he demanded:

"What a