All of this, my friend, had flashed through my mind, even as I went to the office to learn when the Prince's car had gone out. Sooner, in fact. The problem and its possible solution had occurred to me as Chu-Chu rolled out of the garage when I had told the mécanicien to fill up my tank. In the Under-World the odds are heavy on the man who strikes first. So far this policy had won for me, and I determined to stick to it. As matters stood I felt that I was a doomed individual. If Ivan had marked me for the morgue, I was a goner. But, at any rate, I did not intend to mark time and wait for the blow to fall. My word, but I was sorry that I hadn't followed my play through, and sent them both to glory when I had had the chance!
But Chu-Chu had not yet pulled out of the woods. My plan, at the moment, was nothing more nor less than to catch and kill him on the road to Boulogne.
Ivan's little car was a good one, but she was no match for my big six. I decided to overhaul Chu-Chu on the road somewhere beyond Amiens, and, as I passed, to shoot him dead as he sat at the wheel. If the mécanicien showed fight, I would kill him, too. Sounds pretty thick, doesn't it? That's because we are in peaceful old France. If it were Arizona you'd think nothing about it.
"All ready, m'sieu," said the garage man; and I came out of my trance.
I got my motoring ulster and a face-mask out of the locker, then climbed into the car and rolled out, turning toward the Avenue de la Grande Armée. At the office I stopped and put the gems in the safe,
