"Damn!" said Mr. Amberley. "Thanks." He sat back in his seat and took out the clutch.

To turn the car in this narrow lane was not easy. He drove on till he was clear of the Austin and began his manoeuvres. After considerable trouble he got the Bentley round, its head-lamps illuminating the girl and the Austin in two brilliant shafts of light. As the car swung round she flinched, as though the sudden blaze of light startled her. Mr. Amberley saw her face, chalk-white, for a moment before she averted it.

Instead of straightening up the car he kept it stationary, his foot hard on the clutch, his hand mechanically grasping the gear-lever. The headlights were directed full into the smaller car and showed Mr. Amberley something queer. There was a small hole in the windscreen, with splinters radiating out from it in a star shape. He leaned forward over the wheel, staring.

"Who's in that car?" he said sharply.

The girl moved quickly, shutting the interior of the Austin from Mr. Amberley's keen scrutiny. "What has it got to do with you?" she said breathlessly. "I've told you the way to Upper Nettlefold. Why don't you go?

Mr. Amberley pushed the gear-lever into neutral and put on his brake. He got out of the car and strode towards the girl. Now that he was close to her he saw that she was good-looking, a fact that did not interest him, and exceedingly nervous, a fact that aroused all his suspicions.

"Very silent, your companion?" he said grimly. "Get away from that door."

She stood her ground, but she was obviously frightened. "Will you please go? You have no business to molest me in this fashion!"

His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. He jerked her somewhat roughly away from the door and peered in. A man was sitting in the driver's seat, curiously immobile. His head was sunk on his chest. He did not look up or speak.