Dan set the powerful machine at work in earnest, and he felt it gather itself together beneath him, like a living thing, hum like a hive of bees, and leap forward with accelerated speed. The road, glimmering in dawn light, seemed a shining white ribbon that was wound up by the car as it flew onwards. There came a sensation that he sat upon a huge, busy, but motionless monster that was swallowing the track. The roadway poured under his wheels like a river; the Moor to right and left wound away like mighty wheels whose axes were on the horizon.
Though Dan drove the five miles in rather less than five minutes, the time to him seemed very long. Twice he was in peril, and twice escaped death by a shade. At a steep hill, where it became absolutely necessary to slow down, he put on pace again too soon while yet fifty yards of the declivity remained to be run. But the car responded quicker than he expected, and on a little bridge, which spanned the bottom of the coomb and crossed a stream, his right fore-wheel actually touched the parapet and the hub of the wheel struck a splinter from the granite, which shot upward like a bullet and tore Dan’s elbow to the bone. Then came the last straight mile—a long and level tract upon whose left stood Bennett’s Cross, while to the right lay Furnum Regis, the Oven of the King. Now a final rush began, and straining his watering eyes to look ahead and see if by chance Titus Sim might be in sight, Dan saw, three hundred yards in front of him, a sheep standing upon the middle of the road with its back towards the car. He was now running more than eighty miles an hour, and only seconds separated him from the creature. He sounded his hooter, but the sheep did not move, and Dan had barely time to grip the iron rail in front of him when there came the crash of impact. The car was now skimming the ground rather than running upon it; thus the full weight of the motor struck the wether. It was hurled ten yards forward and fell in a crushed heap of wool and bones. The impact carried away the motor-lamp, which dropped to the right, and the car had passed between lamp and sheep and was a hundred yards beyond them before Dan drew his breath. A bolt had given at one end of the bar he held, and a moment later it became detached in his hand.
Half a minute more and the Warren Inn came into sight, while, at the same moment, Daniel saw a horse galloping hard three hundred yards ahead of him. Compared with the speed of the car, it appeared to be standing still; but just as he found himself beside it, the Warren Inn rose on his right, and Sweetland was forced to slow down that he might stop. As he did so he sounded the hooter with all his might to waken Beer. Sim, on the horse, had become aware of a motor’s approach long before it reached him, and, guessing that Dan was following, he had pushed his horse too fast. He knew it was failing; but he also knew that Sweetland must slow down before he could alight, and the sequel proved him correct, for Daniel had already overshot the turning to Hangman’s Hut by two hundred yards before he could pull up. By rather more than two hundred yards, therefore, Sim had a start upon the half-mile of rough ground that separated the high road from Minnie’s home. Sim was also mounted, but herein lay no advantage, for his steed, cruelly over-ridden, now came down with a crash and threw the rider over his head. Titus turned a clean somersault and fell in a peat mire on his back unhurt. Dripping with black mud from head to heel, but none the worse, he rushed on, and as Daniel breasted the last hillock, he saw Titus knock at the door of Hangman’s Hut and Minnie throw it wide. Sim’s fall had lost him ground, and he was not a hundred yards ahead of his enemy when he entered the cottage.
Wild monsters both the men looked now, but Sweetland’s guise was the strangest. His shirt had blown open, his hat was off. A breast ivory white supported his ink-black neck and face. A sleeve had been torn away as he leapt out of the car, and from a white arm extended a black hand dripping blood. The blow at the bridge he had not felt, but the man’s arm was deeply wounded and now gore freely dripped from the injury. In his hand he carried the front bar of the motor-car, which had come off. Henry Vivian’s pistol was still in his pocket, but he had forgotten it.
The way now led downhill, and little more than ten seconds had elapsed before Daniel reached the door of his home. It was shut, but he threw himself against it and the latch broke. Then he stood in the kitchen of the cottage and saw Sim with Minnie on her knees at his feet. Titus was bending over her, and he had one hand on her hair dragging back her head. The other hand held a jack-knife to his mouth, and he opened this weapon with his teeth as Sweetland sprang in upon him. Sim’s hand went back for the blow, but it was not delivered. Instead, his arm was pinned to his side and he found himself wrestling with a demon.
Both men were powerful, but both were spent. Sweetland had lost much blood from his elbow, and he found himself growing weak. Titus had fared better, though he too blew hard after a half-mile run.
He had come to kill Minnie Sweetland; now he exulted and worked to tire out the other. The knife had fallen out of his hand, but as Minnie rushed to reach it from him, Sim put his foot upon it.
“So much the better!” he cried, going down easily as Daniel threw him. “Do what you like—go on—you’re bleeding to death! But Death’s self sha’n’t cheat me of you. Your death’s my—”
He spoke no more, for Sweetland was now quite aware that only moments separated him from falling. He was growing weak fast, and his head swam. He knew that he must strike, and strike with every atom of strength that remained to him, or he would drop unconscious and leave his wife to her fate. For a moment he relaxed his hold, and as he did so Sim’s arm shot out and he grasped his knife. Then a strange thing happened, for the watching woman, who had disregarded Daniel’s order to fly and escape, flung herself straight between the men; and it seemed that it was not to shield her husband, but the would-be murderer, that she came. Daniel had only loosed his grip to regain his iron bar. This he did and, in using it, he was quicker than Sim. Even as the footman regained his knife, the other, now on his knees, raised the heavy and shining metal rod over his shoulder and, with both hands and all his remaining strength, brought it down upon Sim’s head. Then between that certain death and the man’s skull Minnie lifted her slight arm and broke the blow. Like a carrot the bone cracked, but force enough still remained in Daniel’s stroke to stretch out his enemy senseless.
“God’s life! Why for did you do that?” cried Dan. “Oh—your little arm—Minnie—Minnie!”