“This is as good a place as another, sor,” said Larry grimly. “Duck yer head as much as ye can and lave thim catch us. Most like they’ll try to come up alongside, and that’s what I’m afther.” He was fumbling with his kit of tools under his coat, and a moment later I caught the dull flash of light from a heavy, blue-steel jemmy. The whole street was deserted before us as the other car came purring up behind. We were on the car tracks and doing about thirty-five miles an hour. The other car must have been doing at least forty-five or fifty. Sure enough it came up close behind and then nosed out on to the north-bound car tracks, evidently with the idea of running up alongside. But as I turned out to the left, Larry rose suddenly in his seat, turned half round, and I saw his arm flash back with the jemmy in it. There came a clatter of glass from the pursuing car, a wild scream, and then the most horribly roaring crash that I have ever heard. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the jemmy fly true to the wind-shield and through it, just as the car turned out. It must have caught the driver squarely in the face, for the car kept straight on its diagonal course. My last sight of it, looking back, was a huge car, reared up with its front half-way to the top of a badly buckled L pillar, its front axle bent almost double, so that wheels clasped the pillar and a limp body, hanging head downward, across the hood. For sheer horror I very nearly pulled up. But people were hurrying to the crash from all directions, more than one police whistle was blowing, and Larry was plucking at my sleeve. “There,” he said, “that’ll tache ’em a lesson to come murtherin’ honest citizens!” But there was an awe in his voice none the less. For death had come very suddenly to the men behind us there. We turned off into a side street presently, and so, driving slowly and cautiously, made our way home again. But Larry and I did not talk much on the way back. I let him put the car away, while I went on to my rooms alone. To my amazement it was only ten-thirty, though I felt as though I had lived through a week at least since I left that afternoon. I was rather shaky. I had seen death many times in the war, but somehow the circumstances had been more natural and inevitable then. When I reached my sitting-room I sat down in front of the table to rest a moment before telephoning my news to Moore. Larry had left a couple of letters where I could see them, and the sight of one of them set my thoughts leaping into another channel. I had never seen her handwriting before, but somehow I knew from whom that pale blue envelope, addressed in a dainty sloping hand, had come. I opened it quickly. It was dated the same day and must have been written and mailed that morning. “Dear Mr. Clayton,