Cautiously he pushed his way at a trot through the shrubbery. It gave way suddenly to a piece of park land. A little to his left but some three hundred yards away, was a belt of coppices. If he could reach them he stood a chance of dodging his pursuers. To do so, however, he must swerve obliquely towards the men and lose ground somewhat. To take any other line meant that it would be a chase in the open, in which he realised the likely possibility of being run down. He determined to take the chance of the trees.

Keeping the pistol, that he had more or less unconsciously retained, poised ready in his hand he made the dash. As he broke cover there was a shout, and the sharp report of an automatic. That for the instant did not worry him. He knew that he was out of range. The man who had fired was now running madly to cut Labar off from his objective. At the very best before the detective could reach the shelter of the trees he would be well within shot, and he feared that these men, heated by the chase, would think little of the consequences if they brought him down.