a confused puffing and rattling and clanging as the oncoming car breasted the slope. It coughed and spluttered on a powerful, old-fashioned low gear, while its engine throbbed like a weary heart. The yellow, glaring lights dipped for the last time into a switchback curve. When they reappeared over the crest the two cars were within thirty yards of each other. The dark one darted across the road and barred the other's passage, while a warning acetylene lamp was waved in the air. With a jarring of brakes the noisy new-comer was brought to a halt. "I say," cried an aggrieved voice, "'pon my soul, you know, we might have had an accident. Why the devil don't you keep your head-lights on? I never saw you till I nearly burst my radiators on you!" The acetylene lamp, held forward, discovered a very angry young man, blue- eyed, yellow-moustached, and florid, sitting alone at the wheel of an antiquated twelve-horse Wolseley. Suddenly the aggrieved look upon his flushed face changed to one of absolute bewilderment. The driver in the dark car had sprung out of the seat, a black, long-barrelled, wicked-looking pistol was poked in the traveller's face, and behind the further sights of it was a circle of black cloth with two deadly eyes looking from as many slits. "Hands up!" said a quick, stern voice. "Hands up! or, by the Lord--" The young man was as brave as his neighbours, but the hands went up all the same. "Get down!" said his assailant, curtly. The young man stepped forth into the road, followed closely by the covering lantern and pistol. Once he made as if he would drop his hands, but a short, stern word jerked them up again. "I say, look here, this is rather out o' date, ain't it?" said the traveller. "I expect you're joking--what?" "Your watch," said the man behind the Mauser pistol. "You can't really mean it!" "Your watch, I say!" "Well, take it, if you must. It's only plated, anyhow. You're two centuries out in time, or a few thousand miles longitude. The bush is your mark--or America. You don't seem in the picture on a Sussex road." "Purse," said the man. There was something very compelling in his voice and methods. The purse was handed over. "Any rings?" "Don't wear 'em." "Stand there! Don't move!" The highwayman passed his victim and threw open the bonnet of the Wolseley. His hand, with a pair of steel pliers, was thrust deep into the works. There was the snap of a parting wire. "Hang it all, don't crock my car!" cried the traveller. He turned, but quick as a flash the pistol was at his head once more. And yet even in that flash, whilst the robber whisked round from the broken circuit, something had caught the young man's eye which made him gasp and start. He opened his mouth as if about to shout some words. Then with an evident effort he restrained himself. "Get in," said the highwayman. The traveller climbed back to his seat. "What is your name?" "Ronald Barker. What's yours?"