I heaved the wheel off my legs and leapt for the luggage-grid, as the car shot back. Its off hind wheel went over the spare with a couple of jerks that nearly threw me off. Then he clapped her into first, bumped over the spare wheel again and flung up the pass all out. . . . Perhaps for the very first time in all his life Perowne had lost his nerve. I thought he had, and the moment I saw him I knew. And the knowledge did me more good than the wind in my face. The man was not sitting: he was crouched—with his shoulders up to his ears. His one idea was to get away from that spot. The silence, perhaps. . . . He never saw me climb up over the hood or settle myself on the seat behind his back. But I did. As a matter of fact, I sat there a minute or two—to get my breath and recover—before I put him wise. Strangely enough, my touch seemed to bring his confidence back. He gave one whoop. . . . Then he threw back his head and laughed up into my eyes. “You do work hard,” he said. “I thought you were done.” The road was falling now for a long half-mile. I stretched out a hand and switched his engine off. He cursed me for that. Then he stamped on the clutch. “I’ll take you to find her in hell,” he cried, and headed straight for the brink. I clapped my hands on his and wrenched the wheel about. For a second I thought we were over. . . . Then the car swung back to the crown of the road. Again he swerved to the off, and I wrenched her back. All the time the car was gathering speed. I had the strength, but he had the position. We swayed and swung and swerved all over the road, fighting and raving like madmen to get the upper hand. Twice I went for the brake, but each time, before I could reach it, I had to catch at the wheel. I crushed his fingers, and he screamed and spat in my face. We were doing fifty now, and a curve was coming. The man wasn’t born that could take it without brakes. Perowne saw it, too, and laughed. “Behold our spring-board,” he said. I seized his neck and jammed his face between the spokes of the wheel. “Now turn it,” said I. Then I applied the brakes. . . . When the car came to rest, I let him lift his head. Then I put my hands under his chin and looked into his eyes. “You’ll never see her,” I said. “She’s up in heaven.” He smiled. “With the rest of the _demi-monde_!” I began to bend him back. “Where there aren’t any bullies,” I said. “She had her hell upon earth.” “I devilish nearly won,” said he. “You did,” said I. “But you made one bad mistake.” “Why, what was that?” said he. “You lost your nerve.” He struggled at that, and I bent him back again. “This won’t help her,” he blurted, panting. “The more’s the pity,” said I. “But it’ll help me and it’ll make the world cleaner.” Again I bent him back, till his eyes were starting and his back curved like a bow. “For God’s sake, end it,” he whimpered. “Ask in her name,” said I. “For . . . her . . . sake.” I broke his back.