the climax of the drama might be reached. Psmith's muscles
stiffened for a spring. There was little chance of its being
effective, but at least it would be better to put up some kind of a
fight. And he had a faint hope that the suddenness of his movement
might upset the other's aim. He was bound to be hit somewhere.
That was certain. But quickness might save him to some extent.

He braced his leg against the back of the cab. In another moment
he would have sprung; but just then the smooth speed of the cab
changed to a series of jarring bumps, each more emphatic than the
last. It slowed down, then came to a halt. One of the tyres had
burst.

There was a thud, as the chauffeur jumped down. They heard him
fumbling in the tool-box. Presently the body of the machine was
raised slightly as he got to work with the jack.

It was about a minute later that somebody in the road outside
spoke.

"Had a breakdown?" inquired the voice. Psmith recognised it. It
was the voice of Kid Brady.




CHAPTER XXVII

PSMITH CONCLUDES HIS RIDE