RICE-PAPERS
pants of the other were plainly discernible, five men in all, huddled low.
A good piece of road widened the distance. The limousine, now thoroughly warmed, was doing the best that she was capable of and the tires Cyril told her were all new. Her question seemed to give him an idea, for he reached for the flower vase and, thrusting out a hand, jerked it back into the road.
“A torn tire might help a little,” he said.
But the fellow behind swerved and came faster.
It was now a test of metal. Their pursuer lagged a little on the levels but caught them on the grades and, barring an accident, it was doubtful whether they would reach the gates of Ashwater Park safely. She heard a reflection of this in Cyril’s voice as he shouted through the open front window.
“How far by the road, Stryker?”
“Five miles, I’d say, sir.”
“Give her all she can take.”
Stryker nodded and from a hill crest they seemed to soar into space. The car shivered and groaned like a stricken thing, but kept on down the hill without the touch of a brake. They crossed a bridge, rattled from side to side. Cyril steadied the girl in his arms and held her tight.
“Are you frightened?” he asked her.
“No. But what is it all about?”
Her companion glanced back to where the long beams of light were searching their dust. When he turned toward her his face was grave. He held her closely for a moment, peering into her eyes.
“Will you help me, Doris?” she heard him say.
“But how? What can I do, Cyril?”
He hesitated again, glancing over his shoulder.
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