ispersed in the moon-lit
air.

Hanging on desperately to the sides of the swaying car, Ferret and the
two lads knelt upon the front seat of the coupe and peered through the
dust-flecked glass at the solitary motor-cyclist in front. They were
gaining--rapidly at first, but now the gap between lessened almost
imperceptibly.

At that tremendous rate, the bursting of a tyre would result in
complete disaster, yet not one thought did the pursuers give to the
danger they were running. Their sole attention was centred upon the
spy.

A sharp bend close to the village of Cressage enabled the car to get
within fifty yards of the motor-cyclist. Hawke drew a revolver from
his pocket. The chauffeur noticed the action out of the corner of his
eye. Purposely he toyed with the sensitive steering-wheel, causing the
car to swerve erratically.

"Put it up, sir!" he exclaimed, shouting in order to make himself heard
above the roar of the wind over the screen. "If you bring him down
we'll smash up on top of him before we can pull up. We'll have him on
Harley Bank right enough."

A sharp run down through the village of Harley brought the car within
sight of a very steep hill, up which the road wound like a silver
thread against the black slope. This was Harley Bank, one of the
steepest of many stiff Shropshire hills, its gradient averaging one in
seven.

Up mounted the motor-cycle. Ramblethorne was attempting to take it on
high gear.

The chauffeur of the car took no risks. He promptly dropped into
second gear, with the result that the gap between them increased to
nearly a hundred yards. Then the motor-cycle began to falter. Perhaps
Ramblethorne was not thoroughly acquainted with the mechanism of the
two-speed. By the time he got the friction-clutch into action the car
had more than regained the lost distance--and the fugitive had not yet
reached the stiffest part of the hill.

"Head him off--jam him up against that bank!" ordered Hawke.

"What for, sir?" asked the chauffeur. He had no objection to taking
part in a midnight chase, but his sense of prudence told him that it
was not advisable to deliberately smash up another vehicle.

"He's a spy," replied Hawke. "Don't hesitate. I will take all risks."

Fifteen seconds later the near front wheel of the car was abreast of
Ramblethorne's back wheel. Hawke leant sideways with the intention of
gripping the motor-cyclist by the collar, since the relative speeds
wer