e would not hesitate
an instant to shoot her down as she jumped and he would be fairly safe
himself in doing it. A few revolver shots from a car that speeded away
in the darkness offered an even chance of escape. And yet, unless she
forced an issue such as that, she knew that Danglar would not resort to
firing at her here in the city. He would want to be sure that was the
only chance he had of getting her, before he accepted the risk that he
would run of being caught for it by the police.

She found herself becoming strangely, almost unnaturally, cool and
collected now. The one danger, greater than all others, that menaced her
was a traffic block that would cause her to stop, and allow those in the
other car behind to rush in upon her as she sat here at the wheel. And
sooner or later, if she stayed in the city, a block such as that was
inevitable. She must get out of the city, then. It was only to invite
another risk, the risk that Danglar was in the faster car of the two but
there was no other way.

She drove more quickly, made her way to the Bridge, and crossed it. The
car behind followed with immutable persistence. It made no effort to
close the short gap between them; but, neither, on the other hand, did
it permit that gap to widen.

They passed through Brooklyn; and then, reaching the outskirts, Rhoda
Gray, with headlights streaming into the black, with an open Long Island
road before her, flung her throttle wide, and the car leaped like a
thing of life into the night. It was a sudden start, it gained her a
hundred yards but that was all.

The wind tore at her and whipped her face; the car rocked and reeled as
in some mad frenzy. There was not much traffic, but such as there was
it cleared away from before her as if by magic, as, seeking shelter from
the wild meteoric thing running amuck, the few vehicles, motor or horse,
that she encountered hugged; the edge of the road, and the wind whisked
to her ears fragments of shouts and execrations. Again and again she
looked back two fiery balls of light blazed behind her always those same
two fiery balls.

She neither gained nor lost. Rigid, like steel, her little figure was
crouched over the wheel. She did not know the road. She knew nothing
save that she was racing for her life. She did not know the end; she
could not see the end. Perhaps there would be some merciful piece of
luck for her that would win her through a break-down to that roaring
thing, with its eyes