The road was inclining upward; in the distance was a group of hills which Gonnard seemed to recognize. Soon he was sure. They were the hills of Budapest. He would soon reach the city now. Soon--soon--soon; the purring of the wheels on the road sang the refrain. Despite its age the car took the gradient well, and mounted higher into the hills. Here the forestry encroached on the cultivated land: or, perhaps more correctly, cultivation ceased to invade the forest. There was a sweet smell of dewy vegetation in the air, the scent of pine and herbs. The last remnant of fear faded from Gonnard's mind, routed by the thought of what lay before him in Budapest. He sucked in his lips appreciatively, already enjoying in anticipation that which would be reality within a few hours. Should he pick a fair or a dark woman; one inclined to plumpness or----? There was a staccato report, a slackening in the speed of the car, and an unpleasant grinding sound. Gonnard swore, and now that his courage had returned it was the Devil he invoked. A puncture! He applied the brake, shut off the engine, and the car glided to a standstill. The commissary jumped out; then, not without a frightened glance to the rear to make quite sure the White Knight was still not to be seen, he inspected the tyre. It was perfectly flat, the cause of the trouble obvious, for not far from the valve a large nail was embedded in the outer cover. There was only one thing to be done. Gonnard cursed, and with smouldering fury in his heart hastened to look under the seat for the necessary repair appliances. Fortunately everything needful was in its proper place, so stripping off his coat he set to work. In twenty minutes the repair was completed, and as he let down the jack he spat on the road, a mark of relief. It was at that moment he became conscious of a sound to his right. He spun round, his body slumping into a crouching position, his eyes gleaming with terror. He waved his hands weakly to ward off the coming horror, but as the sound continued his appearance changed. From fear, his expression changed to puzzlement, then gradually broadened into cunning amusement and bestial anticipation. The sound which had arrested him was that of a woman singing. A woman! His thick, sensuous tongue licked his dry lips caressingly. Had not his thoughts dwelt for the last half-hour or so on women? Now, suddenly, there was one within less than a hundred yards from him, and by the sound of her voice she was young. To the commissary it seemed Fate had sent her. If she were alone... Stealthily he crept into the forest, and made his way in the direction from which floated the clear, low notes of the singer. Carefully he threaded his way through the trees, and with every footstep he took his thoughts became baser and more beastly.