The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

And then he pulled himself together and moved again. It had to be done, for his hold was precarious, and he could not have kept it for much longer in the state he was in. And by that time the car was travelling at forty miles an hour, and a slip, a fall in the road, would very easily have put an end to the adventure in quite a different way from which he had intended.

He got his hands over the furled top, hauled himself up, and tumbled over onto the cushions of the back seat.

With a sigh of relief, he eased his aching muscles; and for a while he lay there, dead beat, hardly able to move. His head felt as if it were splitting, and crimson specks danced in a grey haze before his eyes.

But the car drove on. The driver, intent only on the road that showed up ahead in the blaze of the headlights, never noticed his arrival.

Gradually the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach passed off. He was still weary from his reckless effort, but his brain was clearing. He mopped at his forehead with his handkerchief and opened his eyes.

Then he pulled himself up onto his knees. As his eyes came over the level of the front seat, the blaze of another pair of headlights that were racing over the road towards them flooded into his eyes.

"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.