top!'

It was the fierce voice of her pursuer. Miss Pillenger increased to
third speed. As she did so, she had a vision of headlines.

'Stop!' roared Mr Meggs.

'UNREQUITED PASSION MADE THIS MAN MURDERER,' thought Miss Pillenger.

'Stop!'

'CRAZED WITH LOVE HE SLAYS BEAUTIFUL BLONDE,' flashed out in letters of
crimson on the back of Miss Pillenger's mind.

'Stop!'

'SPURNED, HE STABS HER THRICE.'

To touch the ground at intervals of twenty yards or so--that was the
ideal she strove after. She addressed herself to it with all the
strength of her powerful mind.

In London, New York, Paris, and other cities where life is brisk, the
spectacle of a hatless gentleman with a purple face pursuing his
secretary through the streets at a rapid gallop would, of course, have
excited little, if any, remark. But in Mr Meggs's home-town events were
of rarer occurrence. The last milestone in the history of his native
place had been the visit, two years before, of Bingley's Stupendous
Circus, which had paraded along the main street on its way to the next
town, while zealous members of its staff visited the back premises of
the houses and removed all the washing from the lines. Since then deep
peace had reigned.

Gradually, therefore, as the chase warmed up, citizens of all shapes
and sizes began to assemble. Miss Pillenger's screams and the general
appearance of Mr Meggs gave food for thought. Having brooded over the
situation, they decided at length to take a hand, with the result that
as Mr Meggs's grasp fell upon Miss Pillenger the grasp of several of
his fellow-townsmen fell upon him.

'Save me!' said Miss Pillenger.

Mr Meggs pointed speechlessly to the letters, which she still grasped
in her right hand. He had taken practically no exercise for twenty
years, and the pace had told upon him.

Constable Gooch, guardian of the town's welfare, tightened his hold on
Mr Meggs's arm, and desired explanations.

'He--he was going to murder me,' said Miss Pillenger.

'Kill him,' advised an austere bystander.

'What do you mean you were going to murder the lady?' inquired
Constable Gooch.

Mr Meggs found speech.

'I--I--I--I only wanted those letters.'

'What for?'

'They're mine.'

'You charge her with stealing 'em?'

'He gave them me to post with his own hands,' cried Miss Pillenger.

'I know I did, but I want them back.'

By this time the constable, though age had to some extent dimmed his
sight, had recogni