A glorious midsummer morning, clear, balmy and bracing. An ideal stretch of macadam, level as a floor and straight as a die for close onto two miles, with interminable fields of waving wheat on either side. A new, high-power car in perfect running order. It was a temptation for speeding which few could resist, certainly not Brose Stovebridge, who was little given to thinking of the consequences when his own pleasure was concerned, and who had a reputation for reckless driving which was exceeded by none.…
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