He had played his cards well, but, as he was to discover, he had not under- but over-estimated the courage of his opponent. Gunzi's message destroyed the last remnants of Gonnard's courage. That the White Knight could touch the shoulder of the detective who was searching for him, actually speak into his ear, and yet get safely away, hinted to Gonnard of the supernatural. Vague imaginings disturbed him. Anything was preferable to his present misery--even death. Supposing--merely supposing--he hanged himself. The White Knight would be cheated, he himself peaceful and content at last. The idea haunted him, and he laughed suddenly at the picture of the White Knight's face. Perhaps it was the sound of his own insensate mirth which brought him to his senses; when he realized the thoughts which had been passing through his mind he shuddered, and once again his everlasting prayer to God left his lips. His terror increased when, after what seemed but a few minutes, seconds almost, a near-by clock struck the hour of midday. Another hour gone by--another hour nearer his death! Something snapped in his brain. He must run, leave Aszod behind him, get to Budapest. Bela Kun would protect him, Bela Kun would see that the White Knight did not carry out his threat. Just as he had arisen from his bed, dirty and unshaven, he scurried from the _château_. Without hat or coat he gained the streets, and blindly fled from a horror which, in his own conscience, pursued him even through the streets, and all the time he seemed to see, some distance behind, a vague, terrifying creature which mocked and gibed at him, yet which always kept apace. There was no train to Budapest for hours. So said the porter as he spat on the ground. The pursuing phantom laughed and gibed when Gonnard glanced behind, and the commissary's trembling knees felt weaker. Somehow or other he must get to Budapest! Bela Kun would save him! There was a motor-car outside the station. Its engine groaned and snorted, wasting away confiscated petrol. Once it had belonged to the Thokoly family, but that was before the Revolution. Since then the local commissary had commandeered it. At the moment its present owner was purchasing tobacco. The loud clamour of its carbonized cylinders attracted the attention of another commissary. To Gonnard it seemed to say: "To Bud-a-pest ... to Bud-a-pest." What matter to whom it belonged? It was a way of escape from Aszod, a method of transportation to Budapest. For the first time for a week a watery smile parted his lips, and the next moment he had stepped into the driver's seat, let out the clutch, and was noisily traversing the empty streets. The houses thinned out, the intervals between them became larger, and soon he was in the country. Of the direction in which he was travelling he had not the remotest idea, all he knew was that Aszod and the White Knight were being left behind.