The car was not Swann's.
Lane swerved to the left, and in the gloom of trees, passed by noiselessly.

Soon he encountered another car--an open car with shields up--as silent as if empty.

But the very silence of it was potent of life.

It cried out to the night and to Lane.

But it was not the car he had followed.
Again he slipped by, stealthily, yet scornful of his caution.