CHAPTER VIII

STRAIGHT STREET The limousine sailed into the summer evening, leaving a long wash of dust to mark her passage. The cooler air suited her admirably, and there was now an effortless elasticity about her movements which set the cap of Drowsiness upon her passenger's head and then pulled it down over his eyes. This was as well, for the latter was worn out. Long ere the car reached Basingstoke, Anthony Lyveden was asleep. The car sailed on. Soon, with her peculiar magic, sundown set everything afire. Streams ran wit…