rearward, and in its shelter leaned back with eyes closed. He
seemed asleep, but after a time he spoke abruptly:

"Melcher is a shrewd man. He wouldn't tackle a blackmailing job of
this size without protection; otherwise I could put him out of the
way very quickly. I dare say Miss Lynn, herself, doesn't know who
is behind him."

"Why don't you warn Mr. Hammon at once?"

Merkle rolled his head loosely. "You don't know the man. His self-
reliance is so monumental, his scorn of opposition is so deep,
that he would laugh at the idea of a plot against him. Then, too,
he's mad about the woman, and he'd probably tell her everything I
said. After all, we have only our suspicions to go upon."

Merkle dozed again, half buried in the cushions. They had passed
Jamaica; the country lay dark and silent on every side save for a
dim-lit window here and there. The car was eating the miles in a
flight as swift and undeviating as that of an arrow; but it was
not until it had swept into the Motor Parkway that the girl fully
understood what her host termed fast driving.

Then it was that the chauffeur let the machine out. Over the
deserted plains it tore, comet-like, a meteor preceded by a
streamer of light. It swung to the banked curves with no
slackening of momentum; it devoured the tangents hungrily; the
night wind roared past, drowning all other sounds. Crouched
immovably in his seat, the driver scanned the causeway that leaped
into view and vanished beneath the wheels, like a tremendous