Blake yelled to him to jump in, and as the man swung himself into the seat beside him, he let the car go, while the men on the road continued to fire. Luckily the light was by now nearly gone, and beyond a broken wind-screen they got away with a good start.
It now developed into a race, Blake striving to reach the barracks for reinforcements to stop the funeral party before they could get clear of Ballybor, and the others to reach the first turning they came to off the main road.
Blake switched on his lights and drove for his life, down hill as fast as the car would go and round corners on two wheels, with the result that in rounding one blind corner they nearly ran into a party of Auxiliary Cadets, whose Crossley had broken down. The Cadets naturally opened fire without asking any questions—a car going that pace in the dusk on a country road in the west of Ireland nowadays is asking for it—and again Blake and his orderly narrowly escaped being shot.
Blake clapped on his brakes, yelled out “R.I.C.”; the orderly held his hands high above his head, and the Auxiliaries gave them the benefit of the doubt. Luckily the leader of the Cadets recognised Blake, the situation was quickly explained, and they took cover on both sides of the road at the corner.
Hardly were they in position when the coffin-car rounded the corner, and the Cadets opened fire; but so great was the impetus of the car, and so bad the brakes, that it crashed into the rear of Blake’s car, the coffin pitched on to the road, burst open, and out rolled a huge wild-looking man.
The second car must have closed up with the leading one as the darkness came on, for no sooner had the first car crashed than the second one ran into it, overturned, and pinned the big man to the road; whereupon Blake shouted hands up, but the men started to run back, and the Cadets at once opened fire.
Three of them fell, but the fourth managed to get round the corner, and Blake sent two Cadets after him. The driver of the coffin-car had fallen clear, and, to avoid the Cadets’ bullets, ran round the Crossley, straight into the driver’s arms.
As soon as the firing ceased, Blake made for the big man; the Cadets lifted the car, and flashed a torch on his face.
Only that morning Blake had been reading a full account of O’Hara, and had studied an excellent photograph of him, and as the electric light shone on the man’s face, he realised the importance of the capture—the most-wanted man in the west.
The Cadets rendered first aid to the three wounded men, while Blake handcuffed O’Hara and placed him in the back of his own car, telling his orderly to watch him closely, and to keep him covered with his revolver. In the meantime the two Cadets had returned, having failed to capture the fourth man.