le from Egham,
and knowing the road, I asked Forrest to glance at his watch. The way
was clear before us, and three minutes and a quarter later, we flashed
through the railway arch at Sunningdale railway-station, four miles from
the point where the timing commenced. But fast as we had travelled,
Mannering travelled faster. When we reached Bagshot we learned he was
half a minute ahead.

We flew through the lovely pine country on the wings of the wind,
through Hook, and so into Basingstoke. By this time we were covered from
head to foot with white dust, looking more like working masons than
anything else; but wherever we went, I knew Forrest had the power to
make the way easy. If he had been anybody else but a detective from
Scotland Yard, we should never have got through Basingstoke, for there
the police, warned in some manner of our approach, had drawn a huge
waggon across the road, thus completely barring our progress. It was
soon drawn aside when Forrest produced his badge, and once more we flew
westwards. So through Whitchurch and Andover.

How we succeeded in escaping accidents I cannot explain. Providence
seemed to watch over both pursuers and pursued. We were always on the
verge of a collision with somebody or something. Cottages, carts,
pedestrians, cyclists, seemed to be flying by in a never-ending
procession. Yet we touched nothing.

Once past Andover the road became clearer, for instead of turning
towards Salisbury, as I expected, the Pirate chose the road through
Amesbury and Stonehenge. We swept over Salisbury Plain at a magnificent
pace, but we did not catch sight of the fugitives, though now and again
a glimpse of a distant dust cloud raised my hopes momentarily. At
Wincanton we learned we were three minutes behind, and setting my teeth,
I determined I would not slacken speed again until we overtook the
fugitives or reached Exeter. The road was admirable hereabouts, and we
ran so steadily that, but for the hedges flying past, we might have been
sitting in armchairs. After Ilminster the road became steeper, though
it was yet too early in the year to be very rough.

But how is it possible to describe a journey at the pace we were making?
Our progress became dream-like to me. It was almost monotonous. One
could observe so little, just an incident here and there to mark the
stages in the journey. Thus I remember Honiton by the frightened scream
of a cur which was swept off its feet by the rush of the air a