Satisfied that his head was well and truly padlocked between the jaws of a particularly ferocious lion, Storm searched the interior of his own cab for any possible booby traps. A careful examination, however, disclosed nothing more deadly than a small spanner under the carpet, and the speaking tube which communicated with the driver. He did not put an agile employed of chloroform, or even some more subtle gas, beyond the resources of the Triangle, and therefore he plugged the mouthpiece of the tube with a handkerchief packed in as tightly as his strong fingers could jam it. So far everything had been admirably plain sailing, even if a shade too close to the wind to suit the nervy, and it wouldn't do to have everything messed up by sleep dope. But, now that he was sure there was no secret gas inlet, he composedly devoted himself to blowing smoke rings and wondering--the truth must be told--exactly how long it took one to get married in England. The precariousness of his present position left him unruffled. He was virtually a captive, on his way to a personal interview with the Big Triangle, and that was exactly what he had wanted; for Mahomet hadn't the foggiest notion where to find the Mountain unless he was taken there. Storm had got his ambition, and the Apex had got his--whether the Triangle would be satisfied with the one hundred and seventy pounds of consolidated Gehenna they had collected remained to be seen.... "We are now," mused Storm lightly, "fairly and squarely in the cart. It happens to be a non-stop bus, and only runs one way.... _Jee_-ru-sa-lem!" He was not interested in their progress down Haymarket and into Trafalgar Square, but when the taxi cut round into the Mall he sat up and began to take notice. It occurred to him that a little realism might be introduced into the entertainment at this juncture, and he began to hammer on the steel shutters and rattle the locked doors. The taxi continued on its way unheeding. After a moment's thought he pulled his big automatic, smashed the right-hand window with the butt, and got his fingers behind the netting which intervened against the second pane. Strong as he was, he could not dislodge it, so, instead, he twisted the muzzle of his gun through the mesh and sent a bullet snarling past the chauffeur's ear. The cab swerved and then accelerated vigorously, and he sank back on the seat again with a soft laugh. He had not fired to raise an alarm, but he saw immediately the measures which had been provided to deal with him if he had attempted to do so in earnest. The taxi which followed them drew quickly abreast, and he caught sight of Lew Mecklen leaning out of the window. He thought of pipping Lew through the neck, _pour encourager les autres_, but before he could put his idea into effect Mecklen swung up a syringe which resembled a chemical fire extinguisher. There was a sharp hiss, and a cloud of acrid spray billowed into the cab.