"All I've got to do, my lady, is to ask her to shake 'em off, and away we go and leave 'em," he suggested.
"Oh, no, no," said Pen.
At Spalding the pursuer, if he were one, was not a hundred yards behind. But in the town Smith got ahead. He did not see Penelope trembling. Smith had taken a look at the one behind.
"There's power there," he said, savagely. "If he lets her out and my lady squeals, I'm passed!"
She did "squeal" the other side of Spalding, but not for herself. The other car had to stop.
"That's done 'em," said Smith; "they're in the ditch." He gained ten miles on them, and Penelope wept.
And just as they were coming into Boston at an easy gait, Smith turned and saw the other car coming up behind like a meteor, with the dust astern of her in a fume.
"That chap can drive after all," said Smith. "Won't you try to let me get away from him before we get to Spilsby, my lady?"
"I—I don't want to," said Pen.
And five miles outside of Spilsby the pursuing car drew up with them. Two indistinguishable monsters drove it, and through his glaring goggles Smith glared at them as they came alongside.