“They got me,” he said laconically. “It's only a flesh-wound. But they've cleared off in their car—hell-for-leather.”
Sir Clinton turned to Wendover.
“You look after that girl. The constables will be here in a few minutes. Shoot Billingford in the leg, if he shows the slightest sign of moving, though I don't expect he'll do much. I've got to get on the track of those two who broke away.”
Followed by the inspector, he hurried out into the night.
Chapter XVI.
The Man-Hunt on the Beach
Much to the inspector's surprise, Sir Clinton did not drive furiously when they had got into his car, which had been left standing at some distance from the cottage. It was only when they almost ran into the approaching squad of police that he understood his superior's caution.
“Two of you get on board,” said Sir Clinton, as he pulled up. “Four more go up to the cottage; and the rest of you make the best time you can down to the hotel and wait there for orders.”
When the two constables had got into the car, he drove off again; and this time the inspector had no reason to complain of slow speeds. His heart was in his mouth as Sir Clinton took the turn out of the avenue into the main road.
“You've got the number of their car, haven't you?” the chief constable demanded. “Then tell one of the constables to telephone a warning about it to headquarters from the hotel. I'm going to drop him there. And tell him to send a party with a car up at once to the cottage to get Mrs. Fleetwood down comfortably. You'd better get Billingford brought down also—not in the same car.”
The inspector transmitted these instructions just in time to allow the constable to alight from the car as Sir Clinton pulled up at the hotel gate. Without hesitation, the chief constable swung the car off along the road to Lynden Sands and opened the throttle to its fullest.