Peggy's hand withdrew from
beneath the cushion. Something bright flashed in it.

"Look out, Mike. She's got a gun!" shouted one of the men, falling back.

The other whipped a hand amidst his rags and was just about to aim a
pistol, when:

"Phiz-z-z-z-z-z-z-z!"

From the shiny object Peggy held in her hand, a fine stream of some sort
of liquid jetted forcibly.

The fellow with the gun threw his hands up to his face, and dropping the
pistol, staggered back with a howl of agony. The other darted off without
even looking at him. The air was filled with a pungent scent of ammonia,
and a quiet smile of triumph curled Peggy's red lips as she started the
car in motion once more.

"Oh, Peggy, how brave you are!" gasped Jess. "Whatever was that you used?
I hope the poor man isn't badly hurt, although he was so horrid."

"I just remembered in time, Jess dear," said Peggy, as she sped the car
along, "that we had under the seat an ammonia pistol for use on vicious
dogs. I used it on another sort of a dog, that's all, and it proved
equally effective."

Just at this moment Peggy turned out to avoid another car that was
approaching them from the opposite direction. In a second she saw that it
carried Harding and Mortlake. They both looked angry and blank. Peggy
guessed at once that they had discovered their loss. But she resolved not
to stop unless they did and asked questions. She felt that such a
despicable act as they had attempted to perpetrate deserved no help on her
part.

"Hey, there!" shouted old Mr. Harding, as his car was slowed down by the
chauffeur. "Hey, stop! I want to speak to you!"

"He's polite about it, isn't he?" whispered Jess. "Are you going to tell
him, Peggy?"

"Cer-tain-ly not," rejoined Peggy, with a tightening of her lips. "Why
should I? He tried to fasten a theft on my brother this morning, and then
caps the climax by instigating Mortlake to try to steal the ideas of our
aeroplane."

"Hey, girls, seen a package on the road?" bawled old Mr. Harding, as Peggy
slowed up and stopped.

"I recovered some of my own property, if that is what you mean," said
Peggy slowly, a dull flush rising to her cheeks.

"Well--well! What d'ye mean by that, hey? What d'ye mean by that?"

"You may construe it any way you wish to, Mr. Harding," was the cold
rejoinder, and to avoid further questioning, Peggy sped up her machine,
and soon vanished in a cloud of dust.

The old financier turned to his companion with