He felt curiously exhilarated that night. It may have been due to the fresh food for thought which he had gathered from his adventurous and wholly illegal visit, or to the sudden bracing rush of swift action he had enjoyed to the full after overmuch peace and quiet. Or, on the other hand, it may have been due to the presence of the girl at his side.... Storm felt happily incompetent to judge. He knew, at least, that the old, gay recklessness had returned to him in all its reawakened daredevilry. The cool night air was grateful on his face: he drew deep breaths of it contentedly, and it went to his head like wine. He moved his arms ecstatically, for the pure sensuous joy of feeling the rippling suppleness of them. He laughed softly, irresponsible and proud, throwing back his head--a splendid animal glorying in its magnificent manhood. "Oh, Susan, this is the life!" he said. "No dull safety for me! I only hope it doesn't end too soon." "You get all the fun," she complained. "All I can do is to mooch around waiting to be shot up, and fill in the intervals lunching with Uncle Joe." "Damn Uncle Joe!" exploded Storm, but this time without jealousy. "I'm sick of hearing about Uncle Joe! Forget him, kid, and listen to me. Susan, when this jaunt's over, and the Alpha Triangle's done the six-foot drop, you're coming away with me--I don't care where, so long as it's some place where you can still go gunning for people who annoy you. London's all right when there's a Triangle livening things up, but one day the Triangle'll toe the T in a whitewashed shed, and I hate stagnation! We'll start a young war somewhere, if you like. Any old thing suits me, so long as it's disreputable and dangerous.... Is that a bet?" "I don't know," she said demurely. "You're so very unconventional...." And thereafter he only had one hand for the steering-wheel. Storm breakfasted next morning with his usual litter of newspapers scattered on the floor all around him, but he was chiefly amused by the alarm of the _Daily Record_. To his mind, the crime reports in which the _Record_ specialised were far more interesting than fiction, for that paper had a reputation for chewing more meat from tropical bones than any of its contemporaries. WHERE ARE THE POLICE? LONDON AT MERCY OF GANG OF MURDERERS. GOVERNMENT MUST NOT SURRENDER. FURTHER OUTRAGES ANTICIPATED. LATEST NEWS OF GIGANTIC CONSPIRACY. --and a lot more. The police, one gathered, were either incapable or afraid; the Government were meditating incontinent surrender; England was to be plunged into anarchy; neither life nor property would be safe.... Only the policy of the _Daily Record_ was stemming the tide of disaster. "These people aren't helpful," murmured Storm. "Stampeding sheep! Bring me some more toast." "Yessir," said Cork.