It was a large, luxurious car, and pounded along with tremendous speed, swerving at the bottom of the declivity with so sharp a curve as to threaten an instant overturn, but, escaping this imminent peril by almost a hairsbreadth, it dashed onward straight ahead in a cloud of dust that for two or three minutes entirely blurred and darkened the air.

Half-blinded and choked by the rush of its furious passage past him, Helmsley could only just barely discern that the car was occupied by two men, the one driving, the other sitting beside the driver,--and shading his eyes from the sun, he strove to track its way as it flew down the road, but in less than a minute it was out of sight.
"There's not much 'speed limit' in that concern!" he said, half-aloud, still gazing after it.

"I call such driving recklessly wicked! If I could have seen the number of that car, I'd have given information to the police.

But numbers on motors are no use when such a pace is kept up, and the thick dust of a dry summer is whirled up by the wheels.

It's fortunate the road is clear.