Ed snatched the keys out of the chauffeur’s hand, and ran back along the verandah. As he hurried down the brick steps, he could see the Chevy wagon only two hundred feet away, and he was caught in the glare of its lights. He threw himself into the open door of the Lincoln, stabbed the wrong key into the ignition, wrestled it out again, stabbed another key in, and then twisted the engine into screaming life.

Dazzling headlights crowded his rearview mirror. There was a shot, and the back window turned to milk. Della screamed at Shearson Jones, ‘Get down! They’ll take your head off!’

Ed tugged the gear shift into reverse, and then pressed his foot on the gas pedal. Another bullet banged into the Lincoln’s trunk, with a hollow echoing sound.

The limousine’s rear wheels slithered and shrieked on the gravel, spraying up dust and stones. Then it shot backwards, straight into the oncoming Chevy wagon, and there was a loud kabbosssh! of colliding metal. Ed felt his neck wrenched from the impact, and Shearson tumbled against the back of his seat with all the elegance of two hundred and fifty pounds of Idaho potatoes. But Ed pulled the gear shift right down to second, shoved his foot on the gas again, and the Lincoln roared forwards towards the main gates with its rear end sliding sideways and its suspension bouncing wildly.

The car collided with the wrought-iron gates, and stopped, its engine bellowing in frustration. Della was clutching the back of her seat, her eyes wide, her pump-gun ready for a last quick shoot-out with Peter Kaiser and Muldoon. Shearson was lying sideways now, and puffing in pain.

‘They’re coming again!’ shouted Della, her voice shrill.

Ed threw the Lincoln back into reverse, stepped on the gas again, and for a second time the long black car hurtled backwards into the battered Chevy wagon. For long seconds, both vehicles were locked together in a crunching, grinding tangle of bumpers and crushed lights, their tyres whinnying and their engines outraged. Then Ed changed back into drive, and the Lincoln surged forward into the gates with another resonant crash of metal.

They wouldn’t have made it through if it hadn’t been for Muldoon’s powerful wagon, right up behind them. Muldoon gave them an extra shunt as they hit the gates, and the force of both vehicles together was enough to burst open the locks. The Lincoln slewed out into the road, its trunk lid flapping up in the air, its radiator grille twisted and broken, but still roadworthy and going at full speed.

‘Now, hit it!’ screamed Della, in excitement. ‘Get your foot down and really hit it!’

‘What the hell do you think I’m doing?’ Ed demanded, juggling with the steering wheel as the Lincoln skidded sideways around a ferociously tight curve. ‘This isn’t a sports car, for Christ’s sake. This is a two-ton limousine!’