and was rolling and pushing him out from the back of the racing car.
He remained so long there at the rear of the car, gasping and fighting for breath again, that the waiting girl was in doubt as to who had been the victor. Then he called to her, and she understood.
She lowered the revolver, slowly, as he clambered weakly back over the boxes, and dropped in the seat beside her.
"Are you hurt?" he gasped.
"No!" she said. But the sound was more like a sob. The siren of the Laminian was now screaming and bellowing out through the velvety black quietness of the midnight waterfront. The sentries on the ship were still shooting after them, foolishly, and adding to the intermittent uproar. But the car, by this time, had covered more than half of the mile-long pier. A land-breeze, balmy and many-odoured, blew in their faces. On either side of them, through the darkness, pulsed the ghostly white lacework of the beach-surf.
"Thank God, we're free!" said McKinnon devoutly.
