It was Mannering.
"Seen anything of the Pirate?" shouted Forrest, by way of reply.
"Merely had the pleasure of exchanging shots with him ten minutes ago," was the astounding answer. "Unfortunately he appears to have got the better of the exchange, for he has managed to put a bullet in my shoulder."
"We have had a similar experience, and Mr. Sutgrove is the victim," answered Forrest. "So I am afraid I cannot offer much assistance."
"I think I can get to St. Albans all right," he replied. "It's only the left, and I managed to get a handkerchief round it."
"If you will let us pass," I said, "I will run on to St Albans and see that assistance is sent to you."
"Oh, I didn't notice I was taking all the road," he remarked, as he drew aside.
Once more we drove ahead at our speed limit, and five minutes later we stopped before the police office. There we found every one in blissful ignorance of the fact that the Pirate was abroad. Nor did any one else see him that night. Again he had mysteriously vanished under circumstances which convinced the detective more firmly than ever that his retreat was somewhere in the vicinity of my home.