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crossways in one corner, quiet and at rest. He was in darkness; for a time he watched the lights and street signs as drey passed the windows opposite him. Presently rain blurred the windows and the lights grew more infrequent; soon they were driving through the darkness on a broad, wet ribbon of road lit by the headlights for five hundred yards. The purring of the engine, the wet swish of the tyres, the gentle, easy motion lulled him to a doze, the doze merged into something deeper, and he slept.
    Through the wet night the limousine swept on, running at quarter-power at a steady forty-five, untired and effordess. Donaghue had produced a bottle of boiled sweets and sucked them as he drove; occasionally he smoked a cigarette. The rain stopped and began again; it went on intermittendy all through the night.
    At Welwyn they came out on the old road and drove on north, through Baldock and Biggleswade, past St Neots and Huntingdon, by Norman Cross, over the bridge at Wansford and to Stamford. There Donaghue slowed down and peered into the rear seat. Warren appeared to be asleep. He shrugged his shoulders, and drpve on.
    Forty minutes later he ran down the hill into Grantham, slowed down, and finally stopped at a garage to fill up. The all-night hand came sleepily to the pump; Donaghue got down from his seat and busied himself about the car.
    Through the rain-spotted window glass he looked at Warren, saw he was awake. He opened the door.
    'Stopped here for some petrol, sir,' he said. 'Just about ready to go on.'
    'Got enough money?' asked Warren without moving:
    'Quite all right, sir.'
    Warren turned his head. 'What place is this?'
    'Grantham.' The chauffeur hesitated. 'Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea, sir? There's a place open up the road.'
    'No thanks. Get one yourself, if you like.'
    Tm all right for the present, thank you, sir. Still straight on north?'
    'Straight on,' said Warren. 'Get up into the hills northwest of Newcastle. Between Newcastle and Carlisle.'
    'Very good, sir,' said the chauffeur. He closed the door, and turned to pay for petrol.
    'Going far?' enquired the garage hand.
    'Two hundred bloody miles, or so,' said Donaghue. 'I wish I was a dog with a good home.'
    He drove out on to the deserted roads in the dark night. From time to time he passed a lorry or an all-night coach roaring along at sixty in a blaze of headlights; there was nothing else on the road. At Newark he screwed round and peered through the screen behind his back; Warren appeared to be asleep again. He glanced at his watch; it was a quarter to two. Donaghue drove on.
    He passed through Tuxford and Retford. Near Bawtry he got out the sandwiches that Elsie had put up for him, and ate them as he drove. It was rotten about the picture he was taking her to; looked as though he'd have to send a telegram. He thought she'd understand. He ate her seed cake. He passed through Doncaster.
    'Another of these bloody towns,' he said. 'Wonder how many more mere are?'
    He was a young man of a good physique; he was growing tired, but he was not sleepy. He left Ferrybridge behind him, and Wetherby; in Boroughbridge it was pitch dark but there were one or two people in the streets, to his surprise. 'They get up early in these parts,' he thought. It was about half-past four, and still raining a little.
    The limousine went flying up the long stretch of Roman road to Catterick, twenty miles away, past Middleton and Leeming Bar. At Scotch Corner he kept north and did not bear away, through Piercebridge and skirting Darlington. He was driving slower now, by map, through Witton-le-Wear and Dan's Castle, where he began to see the shadow of the hedges in the dawn. It had stopped raining. He bore away towards the northwest, leaving Newcastle on the right by ten or fifteen miles; at Rowley it was light enough for him to drive without his lights. Presently he dropped down into Broomhaugh, and drove on a little up the valley of the Tyne.
    He screwed round stiffly and looked