For answer, his left hand came off the steering-wheel and his arm whipped behind her shoulders. His hand came under her chin, and she felt his thick fingers close upon her throat. "Never yew worry what I said," hissed Lew Mecklen in her ear; and, now that he made no attempt to disguise his voice, his nasal twang shrieked a heart-stopping menace at her. "Yew're comin' whar I want yuh, an' ef yew scream I'll throttle yuh!" CHAPTER XXI FOUND DEAD Storm got to his feet somehow, shaking his head like a dog that has been for a swim. He felt sick and giddy, and the blood was buzzing through his head with the whirr of a dentist's drill. The shock had been terrific. Years ago, in Flanders, he had gone through the appalling mill of artillery barrages, intensive bomb-dropping, and the earthshaking fulguration of tons of H.E. sparked off in land mines; but he had never even in a nightmare gauged the possibility of such a stupendous cataclysm as had just taken place within a quarter of a mile of him. Comparatively great as the distance was between himself and the explosion, its force even at that range had been so daunting that it seemed miraculous to have survived it. He looked around for the other two, doubtfully, as though in his bemused condition he hardly expected to find that the phenomenon had been repeated. But they, too, seemed to be unhurt. Inspector Teal had already regained his feet and was swaying to and fro with one hand clasped to his head, muttering white-hot profanities; and Joe Blaythwayt was sitting up gazing from side to side, his mouth open and his whole face smudged into one incredulous gape. And even while Storm tried to convince himself that the whole thing wasn't a delusion, Teal staggered over to the bank manager and held out a hand to help him rise. Approximately at this time, John Cardan, editor of the _Daily Record_, left the offices of that enterprising newspaper. He turned into Fleet Street and walked briskly down towards the Strand, for it was his habit to utilise the space between Record House and Charing Cross Station, where he took a late train for his suburban home, to get the necessary exercise his sedentary occupation denied to him. And, as he walked, humming a little song, he was blissfully unaware of the skulking figure that slunk along behind him...