The three separated to approach the shrubbery from different angles. Labar hastily took stock of his position. He could not hope to cope singlehanded with three armed and resolute men. Nor, if he remained where he was, could there be any hope that he would ultimately escape discovery. He took the undignified but sensible course of resuming his flight. Cautiously he pushed his way at a trot through the shrubbery. It gave way suddenly to a piece of park land. A little to his left but some three hundred yards away, was a belt of coppices. If he could reach them he stood a chance of dodging his pursuers. To do so, however, he must swerve obliquely towards the men and lose ground somewhat. To take any other line meant that it would be a chase in the open, in which he realised the likely possibility of being run down. He determined to take the chance of the trees. Keeping the pistol, that he had more or less unconsciously retained, poised ready in his hand he made the dash. As he broke cover there was a shout, and the sharp report of an automatic. That for the instant did not worry him. He knew that he was out of range. The man who had fired was now running madly to cut Labar off from his objective. At the very best before the detective could reach the shelter of the trees he would be well within shot, and he feared that these men, heated by the chase, would think little of the consequences if they brought him down. Once he stumbled over a rut in the ground and the nearest man gained several yards. Another shot rang out and this time he heard it snarl angrily over his head. There was fifty yards to go. In ordinary circumstances he could have made it, but the loss of blood from his wound had weakened him, and he knew that it would be but a matter of a few yards at the finish between him and the foremost of his pursuers--point blank range. He halted abruptly and swinging in his tracks fired blindly at the nearest man. He took no conscious aim, for he knew himself for a rotten shot. He intended it only as a demonstration to check pursuit. But luck was with him. He saw the first man stop in his stride, and seat himself abruptly on the ground, nursing his ankle while he cursed venomously and loudly. Labar did not stop to admire his fluke. Breathing hard, he made the shelter of the wood, and plunged on for thirty yards or so till he was satisfied that he was out of sight. Then, copying a famous historical example, he climbed into the sheltering branches of an ancient oak, and rested with fluttering breath, while behind he could hear the crackling of twigs as his two unhurt pursuers, who had abandoned their companion for the while, beat about from the point at which he had entered. He had little fear that they would discover him now, but he quietly examined his weapon as their steps drew near, then receded, then drew closer again.