second the memory of what had happened to him before he fell asleep returned. He began to struggle frantically, but his body also refused to respond, and he saw that a broad leather strap like the safety belt of an aeroplane had been passed round his waist and fastened in front of his abdomen, locking him securely to his seat. Wildly he looked about him, and discovered that he was actually sitting in the driving seat of a lorry. He could see the bonnet in front of him, and, beyond it, a kind of white screen which seemed vaguely familiar.
The feeling that he had been plunged into some fantastic nightmare seized him, and he let out a stifled yell of fright.
'That won't help you,' said a cool voice at his side; and Flager jerked his head round to see the veiled face of the unknown man who had sat at his side in the car.
'Damn you!' he raved. 'What have you done to me?'
He was a large fleshy man, with one of those fleshy faces which look as if their owner had at some time invited God to strike him pink, and had found his prayer instantaneously answered. Simon Templar, who did not like large fleshy men with fleshy pink faces, smiled under his mask.
'So far, we haven't done very much,' he said. 'But we're going to do plenty.'
The quietness of his voice struck Flager with a sudden chill, and instinctively he huddled inside his clothes. Something else struck him as unusual even as he did so, and in another moment he realised what it was. Above the waist, he had no clothes on at all—the whole of his soft white torso was exposed to the inclemency of the air.
The Saint smiled again.
'Start the machine, Peter,' he ordered; and Flager saw that the chauffeur who had driven the car was also there, and that he was similarly masked.
A switch clicked over, and darkness descended on the garage. Then a second switch clicked, and the white screen in front of the truck's bonnet lighted up with a low whirring sound. Bewildered but afraid, Flager looked up and saw a free moving picture show.
The picture was of a road at night, and it unrolled towards him as if it had been photographed from behind the headlights of a car that was rushing over it. From time to time, corners, cross-roads, and the lights of other traffic proceeding in both direction swept up towards him—the illusion that he was driving the lorry in which he sat over that road was almost perfect.
'What's this for?' he croaked.
'You're taking the place of one of your own drivers for the week-end,' answered the Saint. 'We should have preferred to do it out on the road under normal working conditions, but I'm afraid you would have made too much noise. This is the best substitute we were able to arrange, and I think it'll work all right. Do you know what it is?'
Flager shook his head.
'I don't care what it is! Listen here, you '
'It's a gadget for testing people's ability to drive,' said the Saint smoothly. 'When I turn another switch, the steering wheel you have there will be synchronised with the film. You will then be driving over the road yourself. So long as you keep on the road and don't try to run into the other traffic, everything will be all right. But directly you make a movement that would have taken you off the road or crashed you into another car—or a cyclist, brother—the film will stop for a moment, a red light will light up on top of the screen, and I shall wake you up like this.'
Something swished through the air, and a broad stinging piece of leather which felt like a razor strop fell resoundingly across Sir Melvin's well-padded shoulders.
Flager gave a yelp of anguish; and the Saint laughed softly.
