“Hang on one moment.”
“For God’s sake be quick,” urged Simon, as they left him without further explanation, “the police may be on us at any moment!”
He waited impatiently... then shadows moved again in the darkness. Rex and the Duke were carrying what looked like a body between them — Simon’s heart almost stopped — was that Richard? In another moment he knew that it was.
The others were propping him up in the back of the car. His head lolled helplessly; there was blood on his face.
“What’s happened?” asked Simon anxiously, as he moved into the next seat. “Rex, you’d better drive; my leg is still pretty dicky.”
“I coshed him,” Rex admitted, as he took the wheel. “Didn’t know who it was in that hellish place.”
“He... he isn’t dead, is he?” Simon’s voice quivered slightly.
“We don’t know yet,” De Richleau answered from the back. “I’ll look after him — drive on now,” he added urgently, “we’ll talk later.”
Rex turned the car round away from the river, and soon they were out on the main highway heading for Birdichy and the frontier. It was a big, modern, powerful car, and the telegraph poles flashed past on either side as they roared through the darkness. They had over a hundred and eighty miles to go, so Rex was taking no chances, but settled down to a steady even pace.
As soon as they were free of the outskirts of Kiev the Duke pulled the flashlight from his pocket and began to examine Richard’s head. Never in his life had Rex felt so wretched — he could not possibly have known who the man with the light was — had not even the least idea that Richard was in Russia. Now, perhaps, he had killed one of his best friends!