The automobile shot forward like a racehorse under the whip, and in a moment was flying down the avenue in hot pursuit.
The foremost car was making high speed; but the one which pursued it was clearly the faster of the two. Slowly the space which separated them began to decrease. The man in the first car spoke quietly to his chauffeur, and the great car jumped forward with renewed speed.
Vernet, in charge of the pursuing car, swore softly to himself as he saw his quarry pull away from him. He had confidence, however, in the speed of his own machine, and urged his driver to greater efforts.
For several miles the two swept on, the rear car gaining slowly, in spite of the other's best efforts. They had passed the fortifications and were now in the Bois de Boulogne, and with clearer roads ahead the chase seemed likely to be a long one.
Suddenly, to Vernet's astonishment, the forward car began to slow up. In a moment the Prefect's men ranged alongside, and covered the solitary passenger with their revolvers.
"Surrender!" Vernet cried. "You are my prisoner."
The man in the other car looked up, and calmly began to light a cigarette. "Are you a bandit, my friend?" he inquired, calmly.
The detective was taken aback. The two cars had now come to a standstill at one side of the road. "Search him!" he said quickly to his companion.
The second man climbed into the car. Its occupant made no protest. "What do you wish with me, gentlemen?" he asked, with a sarcastic smile. "My watch—my money?"
"The searchlight, first of all," replied the detective, "with which you signaled."