"There's no more speed limit," said the Saint unhappily, in Cullis's ear, "but you're still breaking it, and I shall have to arrest you, Cullis, really I shall. Driving to the danger of the public, that's what you're doing—"
As Cullis heard his voice the car swerved perilously, and then straightened up again.
"At least," said Cullis over his shoulder, "I'll take you with me."
Simon took him by the throat, but Cullis's hands still clutched the steering wheel rigidly.
The oncoming car was less than twenty yards away. In any other circumstances, with the road to themselves, Simon might have been able to shoot Cullis, or even simply hit him over the back of the head with the butt of his gun, and trust to being able to keep the car straight while he clambered over and pushed the man out of the way and took the wheel. But there and then there was no chance to do that. In another second or two they would smash head on into the other car…
Cullis's intention was obvious.
With a desperate wrench the Saint rammed Cullis's face down between the spokes of the steering wheel; and for a moment the car was out of control. Then, pushing Cullis sideways, Simon grabbed the wheel and wrenched the car round.
The oncoming headlights blazed straight into his eyes, hurtling towards them. The driver of the other car swerved, but he could hardly manoeuvre on that narrow road, and there was no time for him to pull up.
Simon heard the futile scream of brakes violently applied, and thought he would die smiling.
"Here we go," he thought, and held the wheel round on a reckless lock.