“Halt!”

Almost directly ahead stood a squad of armed men, their rifles leveled straight at the occupants of the oncoming car.

“The patrol!” exclaimed Captain Derevaux, as the auto came to a stop.

An officer approached the side of the machine.

“Give an account of yourselves,” he demanded.  “Your passports, please.”

“We have none,” replied Captain Anderson.  “We are just taking a little spin.”

“You cannot pass here,” said the officer.  “Either return at once, or I shall be forced to place you under arrest.”

There was no use arguing.

“Home it is, then,” said the young Englishman aloud, and then in a whisper to the driver:  “Ahead!  Full speed!”

“To the bottom of the car!” he cried, as the machine jumped forward with a lurch.

He dived to the floor of the car, the young Frenchman and Hal following his example.

Chester, however, had been so surprised at the suddenness of this maneuver, that for a moment he was unable to move; but, while his momentary inaction placed him in great danger, it nevertheless saved his companions from capture, or even death.

As the automobile lunged away, hurling the officer to the side of the street, the latter shouted a command: 

“Fire!  Shoot the driver!”

One man only was in a position to obey.  The others were forced to jump for their lives, as the machine bore down on them.  This one man, however, raised his rifle and aimed at the driver, just as the car swept by.

The muzzle was right at the side of the car, and a miss would have been almost impossible.

But, before he could fire, Chester sprang to his feet, and, leaning out, grasped the barrel of the weapon in both hands.  With a desperate effort, he wrenched it from the soldier’s hands, just as he was about to pull the trigger.

Then, at a second command from Lieutenant Anderson, he dropped beside his friends in the bottom of the car, and it was well that he did so.

A volley rang out from behind.  The hum of bullets could be heard overhead, and there was the sound of splintering wood, as others crashed into the rear of the auto, but the machine sped on.

Then came a second volley, and the automobile swerved suddenly to one side.  The chauffeur groaned, but the car immediately righted itself and continued on its way.

Unmindful of the bullets flying about, Hal sprang to his feet and climbed into the front seat, where the chauffeur was making heroic efforts to keep the car steady, a stream of blood the while pouring from a wound in his head.

“Give me the wheel!” cried Hal, as the car lurched from one side of the road to the other, at the imminent risk of turning over.

He climbed in front of the chauffeur and his strong hands grasped the steering wheel just as the man’s body relaxed and he fell back unconscious.