The man came forward, a raised hand pointing to where the top of a rock showed among the wayside grasses. From the lifted hand, the light struck a silvery gleam, touching the barrel of a revolver. Ferguson, without moving said: "I must see her first." He thought he detected a moment’s hesitation, then the man stepped back to the car and called a gruff: "All right—quick—look." He swung the coupé door open and from an electric torch in his left hand sent a ray into the interior. The white shaft pierced the murk like a pointing finger. Its circular end, a spot of livid brightness, played on Bébita curled on the floor asleep. Ferguson saw her as if cut from an encompassing blackness, transparently clear like a picture suspended in a void. Then the ray was extinguished, and as he stood, blinking against the obscurity, heard the man’s voice, "The money—on the rock there," and caught the gleam of the revolver barrel level with his eyes. He walked to the rock and laid the money, in an envelope clasped with rubber bands, on its flat surface. The whole thing seemed to him like a cheap melodrama and he could have laughed as he righted himself and saw the round, shining end of the revolver covering him, and the silent figure behind it. "Come on," he said, "get to the rest. You tie me—where?" "The oak—behind you." It was a large-sized tree back from the edge of the road, and he walked to it hearing the man trampling the underbrush in his wake. He had a sense of a dreamlike quality in the whole fantastic performance, as if he might wake up suddenly and find he’d been having a nightmare. But there was nothing dreamlike in the force with which the rope was thrown about him and tightened round the tree. As he felt it strained across his chest, lashed round his legs, girding him to the trunk close at its bark, he recognized expertness and strength in the hands that bound him. The thing was done with extraordinary speed and deftness, and ended by a lump of waste, that smelled of gasoline, being thrust into his mouth. The heavy tread moved again through the underbrush, the man passed to the rock, and, his back to Ferguson, crouched on the light’s edges counting the money. Ferguson saw him in silhouette, a large, humped body with bent head. This done, he went to the door of the coupé and lifted out the child. He had some difficulty in getting hold of her, muttered an oath, then drew her out, carried her to the roadside and set her down on the grass. There was a moment when he crossed the full gush of illumination and Ferguson had a clear glimpse of him, a chauffeur’s cap on his head, the lower part of his face covered by a thick beard. Returning to his car, he jumped in. Its lurching start broke into a sudden flight, it rushed; Ferguson could hear the bounding of stones, the creaking and wrenching of its body as it hurtled down the road. [Illustration: _Ferguson saw him in silhouette, a large, humped body with bent head_]