ely to see her and the
children.

When he felt that an auspicious time had arrived, he 'phoned his friend,
Dr. Herkimer, and invited himself to dinner. Herkimer was delighted, and
a few evenings later the clubman motored out toward Yonkers, where he
was made welcome and spent an agreeable evening.

"Where's your chauffeur?" the doctor inquired as his guest drew on his
fur coat and driving-gloves, preparatory to leaving.

"I let him go to-night. I thought I'd enjoy running the machine, for a
change."

"The roads are bad; be careful you don't skid on the hills. I nearly
went over to-day."

Murray promised to heed the warning, and a few moments later was gliding
toward the city.

The beauty of this cold, sharp night was inspiriting; the moon was
brilliant; the air was charged with life and vigor. It gave him a thrill
to realize that he was sweeping to probable death; that nothing now
could intervene to thwart him, and while, of course, there was the
unpleasant possibility that a plunge over the declivity might do no more
than maim him, he had studied the place carefully and intended to reduce
that chance to a minimum by driving his car down the hill with
sufficient velocity to hurl it far out over the edge. There were
railroad tracks beneath; anything short of instant death would be
miraculous.

As he came out upon the heights at last it occurred to him that he was
behaving very well for a man about to die. His hand was steady, his
heart was not greatly quickened, he was absolutely sane and healthy and
full of the desire to live. A short distance from the crest he stopped
his machine, then sat motionless for a few moments drinking in the
beauty of the night and taking his farewell of Muriel. When he had
arrived at peace with himself he fixed his wife's image in his mind,
then, thrusting down the accelerator, let in the clutch. There was a
jar, a jerk, a spasmodic shudder of the machinery; the motor went dead.

This unexpected interruption affected Murray oddly, until he realized
that after stopping the car he had neglected to shift his gears to
neutral. With an imprecation at his stupidity he clambered out and
cranked the motor. When it failed to start he primed his carbureter and
cranked again. It was an expensive, foreign-built machine, and one turn
should have served to set it going, but, strangely enough, there was no
explosion. For fifteen minutes he did everything his limited knowledge
permitted, but the c