ough the moon-drenched spaces of the night.

Presently he roused and, without warning, clambered over the back of the
seat into the place beside the chauffeur. For a time the two conferred,
heads together, their words indistinguishable in the sweep of air.
Then, in the same spry fashion, the little man returned.

"Spelvin's a treasure," he announced, settling into his place.

"Why?"

"Knows the country--knows a man in Barmouth who runs a shipyard, owns
and hires out motorboats, and all that sort of thing."

"Where's Barmouth?"

"Four miles this side of Pennymint Point. Now we've got to decide
whether to hold on and run our chances of picking up Ismay's boat, or
turn off to Barmouth and run our chances of finding chauffeur's friend
with boat disengaged. What do you think?"

"Barmouth," Staff decided after some deliberation but not without
misgivings.

"That's what I told Spelvin," observed Iff. "It's a gamble either way."

The city was now well behind them, the car pounding steadily on through
Westchester. For a long time neither spoke. The time for talk, indeed,
was past--and in the future; for the present they must tune themselves
up to action--such action as the furious onrush of the powerful car in
some measure typified, easing the impatience in their hearts.

For a time the road held them near railroad tracks. A train hurtled
past them, running eastwards: a roaring streak of orange light crashing
through the world of cool night blues and purple-blacks.

The chauffeur swore audibly and let out another notch of speed.

Staff sat spellbound by the amazing romance of it all.... A bare eight
days since that afternoon when a whim, born of a love now lifeless, had
stirred him out of his solitary, work-a-day life in London, had lifted
him out of the ordered security of the centre of the world's
civilisation and sent him whirling dizzily across three thousand miles
and more to become a partner in this wild, weird ride to the rescue of a
damsel in distress and durance vile! Incredible!...

Eight days: and the sun of Alison, that once he had thought to be the
light of all the world, had set; while in the evening sky the star of
Eleanor was rising and blazing ever more brightly....

Now when a man begins to think about himself and his heart in such
poetic imagery, the need for human intercourse grows imperative on his
understanding; he must talk or--suffer severely.

Staff turned upon his defenseless companion.