onstrance.

Stolid and unimaginative as he might seem to casual acquaintance, the
chief inspector usually worked with tremendous enthusiasm and
doggedness. As Foyle had said, he was as tenacious as a bull-dog. He was
determined to catch Grell, if human wit and perseverance could do it.
And he chafed to think that the start had been so long.

Dusk had fallen before they entered Haslemere, pausing only to ask their
way to the local police headquarters. Short as the run had been, they
were both chilled to the bone, and their overcoats were sodden with
rain. There was no thought of a halt, however. A man ran bare-headed out
of the police station door as though he had been waiting for them.

"Mr. Green?" he asked.

"That's my name," answered the chief inspector.

"Your people have been on the 'phone to us, and so have the Hampshire
Constabulary at Petersfield. Nothing has been seen of the car you want
since it passed through here, apparently on the way to Petersfield. We
didn't know you wanted it held up till too late, but one of our bicycle
patrols remembered having seen it go by. Ten minutes later, we got word.
Both Petersfield and Midhurst have had men out waiting for it. No luck
at all. It seems to have vanished clean off the face of the earth.
You'll probably meet some of our bicycle patrols if you're going on.
We've been searching the by-roads."

Green bit back an expletive. The prospect of a night's search in the wet
and wind and rain did not appeal to him. There seemed no help for it,
however. "Much obliged," he said. "We'll watch for your men. Drive on,
Mr. Malley." And they slipped forward into the gloom.

"There's too much of the needle in a haystack business about this to
suit my taste," he complained when once they were clear of the town.
"That car might have taken any one of fifty side-turnings. Anyway, we'll
go on to Petersfield and see whether they've had any luck. Slow down a
bit. There's not much object in speed now."

Presently their big acetylene lights picked out a caped policeman
standing in the centre of the roadway, his arm upraised for them to
halt. They could see his bicycle resting on the grass. As they stopped,
he advanced and, glancing at the number on the bonnet, scrutinised the
two detectives sharply.

"It's all right, constable," said Malley. "We're not the people you're
looking for. We're from London, and we're looking for the same man."

The policeman, satisfied, stepped back with