A streak of light showed at one of the windows. Eve straightened herself, rested her head against the trunk of the tree, and held her breath. The streak of light spread into a wavering, fluctuating glow, just as if the heart of the old house were palpitating angrily. But Eve was allowed no leisure for the play of such phantasies. The incendiaries returned. “Come along!” Lizzie Straker was almost hysterical. “It’s going splendidly—splendidly! We found a big cupboard full of rubbish under the stairs. I lit it. Yes, it’s my work!” Eve became conscious of a growing indignation as they beat a retreat back through the shrubbery and across the field to the lane. They ran, and even the act of running seemed to her shameful. What a noble business was this sneaking about at one in the morning with petrol cans and bags of shavings! She snubbed Lawrence Kentucky when he pointed back over the field gate and chuckled. “She’s going up in smoke all right. We did that pretty smartly!” “It has been heroic, hasn’t it?” To her he was no better than a mean little boy. They crowded into the car. The lamps were lit, and the engine started. The chauffeur drove dead slow along the lane. “That’s it, Jones; crawl for half a mile, and keep her as quiet as you can.” In another five minutes they were purring away into the darkness. Eve, when she glanced back, could see a faint glow above the tree tops. Lizzie Straker exulted. “There is something for them to talk about! That will be in the papers to-morrow.” Eve did not know how far they drove. The car kept running for the best part of two hours. Mr. Lawrence Kentucky was finessing, covering up their tracks, so to speak. He turned in his seat once or twice and spoke to Joan Gaunt. Day was just dawning when the car pulled up. “This ought to do for you. You are three or four miles from Farnham, and this is Crooksbury Hill.” Eve threw aside her rug and climbed out. They had stopped on a flinty road among the towering trunks of a wood of Scots firs. The branches high overhead seemed a black tangle hanging in the vague grey light of the dawn. Not a bough moved. The great trees were asleep. “I’ll be getting on. Running to Oxford. Put ’em off the scent. Write and fix up the next. London address, you know.” He was saying good-bye, and receiving Lizzie Straker’s more than friendly splutterings. The chauffeur, a swarthy young blackguard, was grinning behind his master’s back. Mr. Lawrence Kentucky stared hard at Eve, for she was good to look at in the dawn light, with the smell of the dew everywhere, and the great trees dreaming overhead. “Au revoir, Miss Carfax! Hope you’ve enjoyed it.” She gave him a casual nod, and went and sat down on the bank at the side of the road.