"Shall we gallop?" asked Lancaster.
"No, slower if anything or they'll think we're running away."
So reining to a trot, they went along the Fleet Viaduct, with a passing glance at some sudden riot running wild down in Farringdon Street. They skirted the south side of St. Paul's, and traversed Cannon Street. But then, instead of turning off towards London Bridge, they plunged down the hill by the Monument into the cobbled alley of Lower Thames Street. The destroyer must have seen that they were actually bound for the Tower, for now she whistled thrice.
"They think we're chasing Brand!" cried Lancaster, and waving his arm signalled the destroyer to follow.
Ahead by the Billingsgate Market lay a fish van overturned, entirely blocking the thoroughfares. So they plunged up hill among lanes and alleys, passing over the body of a murdered policeman, until they emerged by an old church where the congregation was singing the Litany, and came out upon the open space of Tower Hill.
"Give me the lantern," said Brand, as they swept down towards the Tower Gate at a gallop. "I'm going to signal my yacht."
"Then the destroyer will fire—she's close behind!"
"We must take the risk."
He drew rein, and flashed the strong light thrice across the sky.
The destroyer fired a warning shot, but again Mr. Brand flashed the signal, and presently yet again.