Wenzel's eyes softened. "Good lad!" he exclaimed quietly, and Francis suddenly lost his fear of the hideous White Knight, whom he had met personally for the first time only a few days previously. So they started off. Later they reached the road to the Austrian frontier, and not until then did Francis open out the throttle. For the first hour they saw nothing of the car ahead, but when they made inquiries, at different farmhouses on the road, they heard that Szamuelly's car had passed about half an hour previously, so Francis increased the speed--so much so that by the time they had covered another thirty miles Szamuelly's car was but ten to fifteen minutes in advance of them. While Francis was increasing his speed, the Terrorist in the car in front was slowing down. For the last two hours there had been no trace of the White Knight, and gradually the spirits of the Terror Boys, and even those of Szamuelly himself, rose higher. Now there did not seem so much need for haste they began to linger, to talk more boldly and exchange reminiscences. Even the smooth-tongued one spoke a little more, for supposing the White Knight did not catch up again there was certainly enough money hidden in his clothes to last him for some time; and he was equally prepared to desert the White Knight as he had been his Communist leader. The time passed by, and steadily the distance to the Austrian border decreased. Then suddenly Szamuelly saw, perhaps a mile back, a trail of dust rising into the air. "By God! Look!" The words burst from hie lips unconsciously. The two Terrorists glanced back. The chauffeur groaned: "The White Knight!" But his companion unconsciously scratched the palm of his hand--more good English money for his little store! The Terrorist pressed down his foot, the car shot forward, and underneath the wheels the road slid past too quickly for the eye to follow; but Francis had seen them, and had the better car. It was a long and thrilling chase; both cars were speeding to their limit, but yard by yard the White Knight crept closer, till Szamuelly was damp with a cold sweat. A mile, half a mile, quarter of a mile, until at last the two cars were within pistol-shot of one another, and the hour of the White Knight's vengeance seemed very near. Perhaps another fifteen minutes would have seen the two cars level, and then... Fate for once was against the White Knight. With an internal choking his car came to a gradual halt, and Francis swore. "Petrol," he said briefly. Fortunately there were spare tins behind, but in the meantime Szamuelly drew away. What were the feelings of Szamuelly when he saw the pursuing car come to a sudden stop will never be known, but it must have seemed to him then that some kindly angel had come to his aid, and his fear dropped from him, so that, all at once, he was in the highest of spirits. He laughed, sang, and joked, confident that he had seen the last of the White Knight.