The tonneau of the car was empty; and, contrary to my suspicions, there was no sign of Von Blon. In the front seat were the two girls. Sibella was on the further side, slumped down in the corner, her head hanging forward. On her temple was an ugly cut, and a stream of blood ran down her cheek. At the wheel sat Ada, glowering at us with cold ferocity. Heath’s flash-light fell directly on her face, and at first she did not recognize us. But as her pupils became adjusted to the glare her gaze concentrated on Vance, and a foul epithet burst from her.
Simultaneously her right hand dropped from the wheel to the seat beside her, and when she raised it again it held a small glittering revolver. There was a flash of flame and a sharp report, followed by a shattering of glass where the bullet had struck the wind-shield. Vance had been standing with one foot on the running-board leaning into the car, and, as Ada’s arm came up with the revolver, he had snatched her wrist and held it.
“No, my dear,” came his drawling voice, strangely calm and without animosity; “you sha’n’t add me to your list. I was rather expecting that move, don’t y’ know.”
Ada, frustrated in her attempt to shoot him, hurled herself upon him with savage fury. Vile abuse and unbelievable blasphemies poured from her snarling lips. Her wrath, feral and rampant, utterly possessed her. She was like a wild animal, cornered and conscious of defeat, yet fighting with a last instinct of hopeless desperation. Vance, however, had secured both her wrists, and could have broken her arms with a single twist of his hands; but he treated her almost tenderly, like a father subduing an infuriated child. Stepping back quickly he drew her into the roadway, where she continued her struggles with renewed violence.
“Come, Sergeant!” Vance spoke with weary exasperation. “You’d better put handcuffs on her. I don’t want to hurt her.”
Heath had stood watching the amazing drama in a state of bewilderment, apparently too nonplussed to move. But Vance’s voice awakened him to sharp activity. There were two metallic clicks, and Ada suddenly relaxed into a listless attitude of sullen tractability. She leaned panting against the side of the car as if too weak to stand alone.
Vance bent over and picked up the revolver which had fallen to the road. With a cursory glance at it he handed it to Markham.
“There’s Chester’s gun,” he said. Then he indicated Ada with a pitying movement of the head. “Take her to your office, Markham—Van will drive the car. I’ll join you there as soon as I can. I must get Sibella to a hospital.”
He stepped briskly into the Daimler. There was a shifting of gears, and with a few deft manipulations he reversed the car in the narrow road.
“And watch her, Sergeant!” he flung back, as the car darted away toward Ardsley.