“Ah! if it be Charles Peace, which I am very doubtful about.”
“It’s him safe enough. Do you suppose he would go at such a pelting, killing pace unless he knew he was pursued. I am pretty sure about it’s being Peace, though he is a bit altered. But there, he’s got a regular indiarubber face. He can do pretty much as he likes with it—twist it up in all sorts of ways—I know him of old.”
“I am glad you do, and hope you are not mistaken. Lord, how this beast of mine does bump one! He’s like a great elephant.”
“Put him along—never mind his bumping,” cried Stackhouse, in the greatest state of excitement. “We shall soon be up with my gentleman.”
Peace knew every inch of the ground, while his pursuers did not. Had this not been the case, the probability is that he would have been captured, for Stackhouse was bent upon having him if he could compass it by any possibility. Neither of the detectives was well mounted; they were on hired hacks, which rebelled against being put to an inconvenient pace. They had not been accustomed to gallop up hill, and resolutely refused to accede to such an unreasonable proposition. Stackhouse’s horse became restive, and had he not been a good rider the chances were that he would have come to grief; but the urgency of the case demanded desperate efforts on the part of the detectives.
Peace, when he reached the brow of the hill, turned sharply round into a narrow bridle road. He traversed this, and then took another turning, at the end of which were three cross roads.
Upon reaching this point, which he had done without attracting the observation of those who were giving chase, he took the road which led direct to Forest-hill.
Now he put Tommy out again to the fullest extent of his speed, and, looking back, he could nowhere perceive the two detectives.
He had succeeded in doubling upon them; they did not arrive at the cross roads till long after he was out of sight.
“He’s done us,” cried Clayton—“given us the slip in a most knowing, clever way. There’s no telling which road he has taken, and, to mend matters, my horse is as lame as a cub and as obstinate as a mule.”