the villa, followed by a shot and then a cry.

"Start the engine," Hunterleys directed hoarsely, standing up in his
place. "I'm afraid they've got him."

There were two more shots but no further cry. Then they heard the sound
of excited voices and immediately afterwards rapidly approaching
footsteps. A man came crashing through the shrubbery, but when he
reached the fence over which, for a moment, his white face gleamed, he
sank down as though powerless to climb. Hunterleys leapt to the ground
and rushed to the fence.

"Hold up, Sidney, old fellow," he called softly. "We're here all right.
Hold up for a moment and let me lift you."

Roche struggled to his feet. His face was ghastly white, the sweat stood
out upon his forehead, his lips moved but no words came. Hunterleys got
him by the arms, set his teeth and lifted. The task would have been too
much for him, but Richard, springing from the car, came to his help.
With an effort they hoisted him over the fence. Almost as they did so
there was the sound of footsteps dashing through the shrubs, and a shot,
the bullet of which tore the bark from the trunk of a tree close at
hand. The car leapt off in fourth speed, Sidney supported in Hunterleys'
arms. A loud shout from behind only brought Richard's foot down upon the
accelerator.

"Stoop low!" he cried to Hunterleys. "Get your legs in, if you can."

A bullet struck the back of the car and another whistled over their
heads. Then they dashed around the corner, and Richard, turning on the
lights, jammed down his accelerator.

"Gee whiz! that's a bloodthirsty crew!" the young man exclaimed, his
eyes fixed upon the road. "Is he hurt?"

Roche was lying back on the seat. Hunterleys was on his knees, holding
on to the framework of the car.

"They've got me all right, Hunterleys," Roche faltered. "Listen.
Everything went well with me at first. I could hear--nearly everything.
The Frenchman kept his mouth shut--tight as wax. Grex did most of the
talking. Russia sees nothing in the entente--England has nothing to
offer her. She'd rather keep friends with Germany. Russia wants to move
eastward--all Persia--India. She's only lukewarm, any way, about the
French alliance as things stand at present, and dead off any truck with
England. There's talk of Constantinople, and Germany to march three army
corps through a weak French resistance to Calais. They talked of France
acting to her pledges, putting her recruits in the front, ta