The car drove on; there was an intoxicating spirit of cheerfulness surrounding them. On ... on to Austria! Szamuelly gave one final glance back, and saw, in the far distance, a rising cloud of dust, approaching with incredible rapidity, but fear no longer reigned in his heart, for, as the Communist glanced from side to side, he recognized Lajta Ujfalu in the distance, and knew that before many minutes passed he would be safe in Austria. Derisively he waved his hand. "Good-bye, White Knight!" he called out mockingly. "Good-bye, Hungary!" On ... on. One thousand yards to safety, five hundred, four hundred ... and then--Nemesis! As they passed a tiny copse there was a rain of bullets, and they saw a group of hidden, uniformed men--Hungarian _gendarmerie_, already self-organized at the first rumours of the Soviet's downfall. The driver sighed gently and collapsed. The car jumped forward for twenty yards--there was a tearing, rending crash--and the battered skeleton of what just before had been a live, pulsating automobile overturned. Szamuelly staggered from out the wreckage. Through the bloody film which mistily obstructed his vision he saw men running toward him, shouting and shooting; suddenly he felt a burning, searing pain which vibrated through his body. He wanted to fall, to give up, but an instinct for life urged him forward. He braced up and staggered on--the frontier was just ahead--three hundred yards and he would be safe.... The fear of death lent him wings--the excitement of the chase blinded the eyes of the pursuing gendarmes--and suddenly Szamuelly knew he was across the frontier.... Safe! ... Safe! The Hungarians would never dare to shoot now.... He lurched on and on, smiling grimly, triumphantly. The _gendarmes_ clustered together on the borderline, cursing, and watched their prey escape. There were no Austrian _Volkswehr_ to be seen, but, scarcely recovered from the heavy yoke of the Soviet, they feared to advance or to fire, and thus provoke international complications. Such was the position when, with a sobbing grind, Francis brought his car to a stop. The White Knight jumped out, but there was no need for words. Szamuelly had all but escaped ... two minutes more and he would be beyond all hope of revenge. With a rapid gesture Wenzel seized a rifle from out the hands of one of the _gendarmes_, and, putting it to his shoulder, sighted the staggering Communist. The figure was small and moving erratically.... Wenzel's hands shook unsteadily. With an effort of will he steadied them, and suddenly Szamuelly was clearly before his eyes, dead between the forked sight. The rifle flashed--for one vibrant, palpitating second nothing happened. Then Szamuelly just dropped--never to move again.... "Too good a death," grumbled the awakened people of Hungary when they heard the news. * * * * * *