vapours of doubt and perplexity, was as busy as the throbbing engine before my feet. I knew.
'You say something in that manuscript of yours, Mr. Trent, about the swift automatic way in which one's ideas arrange themselves about some new illuminating thought. It is quite true. The awful intensity of ill-will that had flamed after me from those straining eyeballs had poured over my mind like a searchlight. I was thinking quite clearly now, and almost coldly, for I knew what–at least I knew whom–I had to fear, and instinct warned me that it was not a time to give room to the emotions that were fighting to possess me. The man hated me insanely. That incredible fact I suddenly knew. But the face had told me, it would have told anybody, more than that. It was a face of hatred gratified, it proclaimed some damnable triumph. It had gloated over me driving away to my fate. This too was plain to me. And to what fate?
'I stopped the car. It had gone about two hundred and fifty yards, and a sharp bend of the road hid the spot where I had set
