the seat to the floor and lay
motionless.

He hurried back to the tobacconist's where the telephone sign had been.
At the back of his fuddled brain lingered an idea that there was somebody
who would be hurt. That cruel looking devil who was cross-examining him
when he fell into a fit--Tarling. Yes, that was the name, Tarling.

It happened to be a new telephone directory, and by chance Tarling's
name, although a new subscriber, had been included. In a few seconds he
was talking to the detective.

He hung up the receiver and came out of the little booth, and the
shopman, who had heard his harsh, loud voice, looked at him suspiciously;
but Sam Stay was indifferent to the suspicions of men. He half ran, half
walked back to where his cab was standing, leaped into the seat, and
again drove the machine forward.

To Highgate Cemetery! That was the idea. The gates would be closed, but
he could do something. Perhaps he would kill her first and then get her
over the wall afterwards. It would be a grand revenge if he could get her
into the cemetery alive and thrust her, the living, down amongst the
dead, through those little doors which opened like church doors to the
cold, dank vault below.

He screamed and sang with joy at the thought, and those pedestrians who
saw the cab flash past, rocking from side to side, turned at the sound of
the wild snatch of song, for Sam Stay was happy as he had not been happy
in his life before.

But Highgate Cemetery was closed. The gloomy iron gates barred all
entrance, and the walls were high. It was a baffling place, because
houses almost entirely surrounded it; and he was half an hour seeking a
suitable spot before he finally pulled up before a place where the wall
did not seem so difficult. There was nobody about and little fear of
interruption on the part of the girl. He had looked into the cab and had
seen nothing save a huddled figure on the floor. So she was still
unconscious, he thought.

He ran the car on to the sidewalk, then slipped down into the narrow
space between car and wall and jerked open the door.

"Come on!" he cried exultantly. He reached out his fingers--and then
something shot from the car, something lithe and supple, something that
gripped the little man by the throat and hurled him back against the
wall.

Stay struggled with the strength of lunacy, but Ling Chu held him in a
grip of steel.

CHAPTER XXXVII

LING CHU RETURNS

Tarling dropped the tele