"If the man doesn't drive more carefully," cried out the Englishman, "we
shall be spilt--and that won't do us any good, will it?"

The Count called out, "If there's an accident you get nothing, my friend!
Drive as quickly as you like, but drive carefully."

They swept on through the town, and so along the dimly-lighted shady
avenues with which even Chester had become so familiar during the last
few days.

Paul de Virieu sat with clenched hands, staring in front of him. Remorse
filled his soul--remorse and anguish. If Sylvia had been done to death,
as he now had very little doubt Anna Wolsky had been done to death, then
he would die too. What was the vice which had meant all to him for so
many years compared to his love for Sylvia?

The gendarmes murmured together in quick, excited tones. They scented
that something really exciting, something that would perhaps lead to
promotion, was going to happen.

At last, as the carriage turned into a dark road, Count Paul suddenly
began to talk, at the very top of his voice.

"Speak, Mr. Chester, speak as loud as you can! Shout! Say anything that
you like! They may as well hear that we are coming--"

But Chester could not do what the other man so urgently asked him to do.
Not to save his life could he have opened his mouth and shouted as the
other was now doing.