CHAPTER XIIIIt is a hundred and fifteen or twenty miles from Birmingham to London. Having gambled the fate of the world on a silly trick, and won back my two-seater from the very hands of the law and of the usurpers, I was wonderfully bouyed up; and decided to go down to my gang’s headquarters and tell them all the new developments. I was aching to talk to someone ... preferably Marion.
In half an hour I had left Birmingham and then Coventry far behind me, and was feeling pretty safe, as there had been no signs of pursuit. Then, just as I roared into some cursed little hamlet along the route—I don’t even know its name—a great black motor dashed out of a lane ahead of me and blocked the way. I saw it was crammed to the roof with them; knew that this was no accidental barrier, but a conting
