CHAPTER XXXIX

MICHAEL KNOWS FOR SURE IT was that same voice that had brought Michael Brixan racing across the garden to the postern gate. A car stood outside, its lights dimmed. Standing by its bonnet was a frightened little brown man who had brought the machine to the place. “Where is your master?” asked Michael quickly. The man pointed. “He went that way,” he quavered. “There was a devil in the big machine—it would not move when he stamped on the little pedal.” Michael guessed what had happened. At the last moment, by one of t…