The man with the hypodermic came back into the room; and she hid her face as he crossed to the side of the bed. Her arm was roughly grasped, and she felt him pinch her skin before he drove the needle home. Then came a sharp pang as he injected the contents of the syringe. Then, just as she wavered on the edge of fainting from the nervous strain she had undergone, the whole scene changed. There was a crash of glass, and a voice which seemed faintly familiar ordered sharply: “Hands up!” A scuffle, two shots, a cry of pain, and the fall of a heavy body to the floor; more sounds of rapid movement in the room; a voice shouting directions; another shot, outside the house—all these impinged on her consciousness without her grasping exactly what had happened. With a last effort of will she wrenched herself round on the bed, so that she could see the room. Sir Clinton, pistol in hand, was stooping over the third man, who lay groaning on the floor. At the open window she could see Wendover climbing into the room; and, as he jumped down, Inspector Armadale dashed in through the open door. Rescue had come just too late; and, as she realised this, her power of resistance gave out, and she fainted. Sir Clinton made a gesture to Wendover, putting him in charge of the unconscious girl, while he himself turned back to his captive. “I've smashed your shoulder with that shot, I think, Billingford,” he commented. “You're safe enough, my man, now that I've taken your gun away from you. You'll stay where you are until my constables come for you. Mr. Wendover will keep an eye on you—and he'll shoot you without the slightest compunction, I'm sure, if you give trouble.” Billingford seemed engrossed in more immediate afflictions. “Oh! It hurts damnably!” he muttered. “Glad to hear it,” Sir Clinton declared unsympathetically. “It'll keep you quiet. Well, inspector?” Armadale held up a bleeding hand. “They got me,” he said laconically. “It's only a flesh-wound. But they've cleared off in their car—hell-for-leather.” Sir Clinton turned to Wendover. “You look after that girl. The constables will be here in a few minutes. Shoot Billingford in the leg, if he shows the slightest sign of moving, though I don't expect he'll do much. I've got to get on the track of those two who broke away.” Followed by the inspector, he hurried out into the night. Chapter XVI The Man-Hunt on the Beach Much to the inspector's surprise, Sir Clinton did not drive furiously when they had got into his car, which had been left standing at some distance from the cottage. It was only when they almost ran into the approaching squad of police that he understood his superior's caution. “Two of you get on board,” said Sir Clinton, as he pulled up. “Four more go up to the cottage; and the rest of you make the best time you can down to the hotel and wait there for orders.”