"It is possible," Hunterleys whispered, after some time, "that we may have to wait for another hour yet."
Richard was suddenly tense. He sat up, and his foot reached for the self-starter.
"I don't think you will," he muttered. "Listen!"
Almost immediately they were conscious of some commotion in the direction of the villa, followed by a shot and then a cry.
"Start the engine," Hunterleys directed hoarsely, standing up in his place. "I'm afraid they've got him."
There were two more shots but no further cry. Then they heard the sound of excited voices and immediately afterwards rapidly approaching footsteps. A man came crashing through the shrubbery, but when he reached the fence over which, for a moment, his white face gleamed, he sank down as though powerless to climb. Hunterleys leapt to the ground and rushed to the fence.
"Hold up, Sidney, old fellow," he called softly. "We're here all right. Hold up for a moment and let me lift you."
Roche struggled to his feet. His face was ghastly white, the sweat stood out upon his forehead, his lips moved but no words came. Hunterleys got him by the arms, set his teeth and lifted. The task would have been too much for him, but Richard, springing from the car, came to his help. With an effort they hoisted him over the fence. Almost as they did so there was the sound of footsteps dashing through the shrubs, and a shot, the bullet of which tore the bark from the trunk of a tree close at hand. The car leapt off in fourth speed, Sidney supported in Hunterleys' arms. A loud shout from behind only brought Richard's foot down upon the accelerator.
"Stoop low!" he cried to Hunterleys. "Get your legs in, if you can."
A bullet struck the back of the car and another whistled over their heads. Then they dashed around the corner, and Richard, turning on the lights, jammed down his accelerator.