We got the bags over the wall and reached the car. Thwaite cranked up
at once and we were off.
How we went I could not guess, nor in what directions, nor even how
long. Ours was the only vehicle on the roads we darted along.
When the dawn light was near enough for me to see Thwaite stopped the
car.
He turned to me.
“Get out!” he said.
“What?” I asked.
He shoved his pistol muzzle in my face.
“You’ve fifty thousand dollars in bank bills in your pockets,” he
said. “It’s a half a mile down that road to a railway station. Do you
understand English? Get out!”