But how is it possible to describe a journey at the pace we were making? Our progress became dream-like to me. It was almost monotonous. One could observe so little, just an incident here and there to mark the stages in the journey. Thus I remember Honiton by the frightened scream of a cur which was swept off its feet by the rush of the air as we passed close at his tail. Then nothing of note until we reached Exeter.
At the cathedral city we were told the white car was only a minute in advance. I began to wonder where the chase was going to end, for Mannering was still going westward without pause. Still we followed. Out on to the Launceston road; onward, ever onward until the bare hills of Dartmoor frowned upon us, and we had to slacken slightly for the long upward grind. Fortunately the hills were free from mist, and on reaching the summit of Whiddon Down we caught once more a glimpse of the white car before it disappeared in the distance. I was getting reckless, and I took the descent at a pace which blanched even Forrest's cheek. Then through a streak of white houses, which I fancied must be Okehampton. There was no need to inquire the way. At the pace both cars were travelling there was only one road which would serve either Mannering or myself. In fifteen minutes Launceston came into view. Then up again until from the top of Bodmin moor we caught fleeting glimpses of the sea on either side of us. On still without pause, through Redruth and Camborne and Hayle. Finally a sight of them at last, as we opened up St. Michael's Bay as we came to Marazion. And here I thought the chase had come to an end. I was mistaken.
CHAPTER XXIII
SAVED
My brain reeled as we rushed along the road into Penzance. My forehead seemed to be encircled with a band of steel. My mouth was so parched that my tongue rattled against my palate as I tried to speak to Forrest. My fingers were so cramped with the grip on the steering wheel, a grip which had never once been relaxed during our five hours' run, that I could not relinquish my hold. The road became dark, and involuntarily I cut off the supply of the gas to the motor and brought the car to a standstill.
"Go on, man! Go on!" shouted Forrest in my ear.
I could only gasp for answer. I felt suddenly sick.
Then Forrest gave proof of his ready common sense. He thrust his hand into his pocket and produced the bottle of champagne which had been left over from our lunch, and which he had thoughtfully brought with him in view of some such eventuality as this. Tearing off the wire he cut the string. The cork flew out and the liquor creamed from the neck of the bottle. Pushing up my mask with one hand he held the bottle to my lips with the other.