Then they burst into the garage itself. The first car was already in the mews, and they were in time to see the tail of the second disappear round the smashed door of the lock-up. There was no chance of starting up another of the cars to follow in pursuit--even assuming that one of those which were left would be capable of overtaking either of the first two lean, speedy super-cars, which was unlikely. Teal and Storm sprinted down the mews, Teal dragging his revolver from his pocket as he went. They saw the hinder car turn right as they entered the mews, and as they reached the end they saw it skid round into Buckingham Gate, with the driver hunched up over the wheel in an attitude of desperate concentration. Then they were in Buckingham Gate themselves, and, standing on the kerb, they witnessed a play which might have been lifted from a sensational movie scenario. The first car had a lead of about fifty yards, and was increasing it. And then they heard a hideous, clanking grind. The driver had missed his gears. The racking, tortured noise went on, mingling with the deafening drone of the racing engine, as the masked man strove frenziedly to force the cogs to engage. And while he did so he turned in the seat and they saw a gun in his hand. The second car was gaining ground rapidly now, and then the revolver cracked, and the second driver's cap went spinning. Again the masked man fired--twice--and Storm and Teal heard the whine of the bullets passing over their heads. "Je-rusalem--he's shooting at us!" Storm exclaimed, and began running towards the two cars. The leading racer was slowing down, for the almost continuous grating which came from it showed that the masked man had still failed to get in gear again. The distance between the two speedsters was lessening swiftly--twenty yards ... fifteen ... ten ... and the second car moving like a streak of light. For the last time the masked man fired, practically at point-blank range, but although his bullet might have stopped a charging man it could not stop a charging car. And charging the second car was, heading straight for the decelerating racer. And the pursuing car must have been travelling at over sixty miles an hour.... Teal and Storm came up some minutes after the collision. A mangled wreck of twisted machinery and rent and crushed aluminium--that was all. With two bodies jammed in the ruins, weltering in a spreading pool of petrol tinted with something red. It was some time before they could get at the two men. One was James Norman Mattock--dead, with the masked man's bullet through his brain. Death had wiped the hard lines from his thin face, taken the prison bitterness out of his glazing eyes. It seemed as if a faint, peaceful smile lay on his lips. Mechanically Inspector Teal doffed his hat in the presence of death--for the first time in his life. It was not because of James Norman Mattock. "Poor Joan--poor kid," he muttered under his breath.