Then he coaxed the car around a sharp bend and saw a row of red lights spring up across the road. He dropped his hand thoughtfully to the brake.
“This wasn’t here when we came by first,” he said, and realized that the girl had gone tense and still.
“What do you think it is?” she whispered.
The Saint shrugged. He brought the car to a standstill with its bumper three yards from the red lights, which appeared to be attached to a long plank rigged squarely across his path — he could not see what was beyond the plank.
Then he felt a hard cold jab of metal in the side of his head, and turned quickly. He looked down the barrel of a gun in the hand of an overcoated man who stood beside the car.
“Take it easy,” advised the man with grim calmness.
The Saint heard a rustle of movement beside him, and glanced around. The girl was getting out. She closed the door after her, and stood on the running board.
“This is as far as I ride, stranger,” she said.
“I see,” said the Saint gently.
The man with the gun jabbed again.