The affair promised to become even more serious than he had expected. Considering the best course to follow, he decided that there was nothing better than to make all speed to Herne Hill, and then get George to drive him straight to Dover. The Admiralty launch would be there awaiting him. He could cross the Channel at once, while the pursuers would have to wait for a boat.
The chances of the traffic, and the eagerness of the cabman, enabled him to outstrip the pursuing cab as soon as he had passed the Elephant and Castle, and it was not in sight when he reached Herne Hill. There the gyro-car was awaiting him. It was surrounded by an admiring crowd, and Buckland wished that he could have chosen a less conspicuous vehicle. Having paid and tipped his driver he sprang into the car.
“Straight for Dover, George!” he cried.
“Right. I have kept the gyroscopes working, in case anything happened. Are they on your track?”
“Yes. There’s a taxi after me: there it is, not a hundred yards away.”
“Well, they can’t interfere with you openly. There’s no hurry. They’ll be sold when they find that you are not going into the station. Couldn’t we have them arrested?”
“There’s no time. I should be wanted as a witness. Besides, there’s no policeman. Now for Dover: you know the road?”
“Yes. We’ll give them a run, at any rate.”
The taxi-cab had by this time pulled up, but no one had as yet alighted from it. George started the gyro-car, and the crowd gave a cheer as it ran forward at ten miles an hour. The occupant of the pursuing cab had now stepped out, and stood on the pavement watching the departing car with ill-concealed chagrin. He was a foreigner, but not one of those whom the Bucklands had previously seen in the suite of Count Slavianski.
“He sees he is no match for us,” said George gleefully. “I think we are safe now.”