The Motor Pirate

by G. Sidney Paternoster

"There are a couple of masks in the coach-house," I said quietly to the detective.

He darted into the doorway and returned a moment later with them, thrusting at the same time a bottle into his pocket. It took us no time to climb into the car and as, during his momentary absence, I had succeeded in starting the engine, we were in a position to move at once.

For a hundred yards we travelled at the speed at which we were accustomed to see Mannering while using the car in the sight of men and in the light of day. Then with a word of warning to my companion, I pulled at the change-speed lever. The effect was marvellous. The car seemed to leap forward and the hedges suddenly transformed themselves into long green streaks.

A cloud of dust on the road ahead gave the direction Mannering had taken, so I jammed down the lever to its limit and commenced the pursuit. At any other time the idea of chasing the Pirate on one of his own cars would have delighted me beyond measure, but my thoughts were too much occupied as to the fate which might await Evie if we failed to overtake her abductor to allow room for anything else.

Exactly what speed we made I cannot tell, it must have been nearer eighty than sixty miles an hour, but the smoothness of the motion was wonderful, and I felt not the slightest tremor.

Mannering had disappeared on the Watford road, and in a few minutes we swept through the north end of the town and, directed by a boy at the cross roads, made for Rickmansworth. Forrest took charge of the horn, and kept it braying continuously. We slackened speed through Rickmansworth, for the streets were full of vehicles, and there we learned that the white car was five minutes ahead. Once clear of the streets I let the car go again, and we tore away towards Uxbridge. On reaching the main Oxford road once more a dust cloud in the distance served as a guide, and informed us that Mannering had crossed the highway, and gone away in the direction of Slough. The going was rough for a while, but I did not slacken pace, though the road was narrow, and to have met a cart would have meant certain destruction. The road broadened after a time, and I fancied we were gaining, for the dust cloud seemed nearer. We skirted Slough to the east, the guiding cloud bearing towards Dachet. Darting through that little riverside town at a pace which set the police whistles blowing behind us, we came to the bridge across the Thames, and here we were informed that our quarry was barely a minute ahead, and running in the direction of Egham. A mile further on, at a straight piece of road, we first sighted the fugitives, and a cry of triumph escaped my lips. It was a little premature, however. Once again the silver car turned into a bye-road so winding that I was compelled, much against my will, to slacken speed. Then once more we came out upon a main road, to find our quarry not more than a hundred yards away as we swept out into the broad highway.

And here, looking back, Mannering for the first time learned that we were on his track. At that moment, too, commenced a race which, I venture to think, will not soon be equalled in the history of the motor world. At all events, I trust it will never be my lot to take part in any similar trial of speed, at least, with such issues depending upon the result. Upon emerging from the bye-road we were a mile from Egham, and knowing the road, I asked Forrest to glance at his watch. The way was clear before us, and three minutes and a quarter later, we flashed through the railway arch at Sunningdale railway-station, four miles from the point where the timing commenced. But fast as we had travelled, Mannering travelled faster. When we reached Bagshot we learned he was half a minute ahead.

We flew through the lovely pine country on the wings of the wind, through Hook, and so into Basingstoke. By this time we were covered from head to foot with white dust, looking more like working masons than anything else; but wherever we went, I knew Forrest had the power to make the way easy. If he had been anybody else but a detective from Scotland Yard, we should never have got through Basingstoke, for there the police, warned in some manner of our approach, had drawn a huge waggon across the road, thus completely barring our progress. It was soon drawn aside when Forrest produced his badge, and once more we flew westwards. So through Whitchurch and Andover.

How we succeeded in escaping accidents I cannot explain. Providence seemed to watch over both pursuers and pursued. We were always on the verge of a collision with somebody or something. Cottages, carts, pedestrians, cyclists, seemed to be flying by in a never-ending procession. Yet we touched nothing.

Once past Andover the road became clearer, for instead of turning towards Salisbury, as I expected, the Pirate chose the road through Amesbury and Stonehenge. We swept over Salisbury Plain at a magnificent pace, but we did not catch sight of the fugitives, though now and again a glimpse of a distant dust cloud raised my hopes momentarily. At Wincanton we learned we were three minutes behind, and setting my teeth, I determined I would not slacken speed again until we overtook the fugitives or reached Exeter. The road was admirable hereabouts, and we ran so steadily that, but for the hedges flying past, we might have been sitting in armchairs. After Ilminster the road became steeper, though it was yet too early in the year to be very rough.