"If he has made for Eastbourne we have lost him!" muttered Mr. Belford. "If for Newhaven or Lewes we may not be too late. But there is a possibility——ah! Yes; it is! They are making for Tunbridge Wells—perhaps for London! Quick, inspector! Don't move the telescope. On the straight road leading to the Norman church tower! Is that the car?"
Sheffield lowered his eye to the glass, and after some little delay got a sight of a long-bodied, waspish, shape, creeping, insect-wise, along a white chalk mark. His eye growing more accustomed to the glass, he made it out for a grey car.
"There's a chance, sir. It looks about the right cut."
"This way, inspector! We will take the risk."
Down the tower stairs they sped, Sheffield stumbling and delaying in the dark and making better going where the light from a window showed the stairs clearly.
"If that is he," panted the Home Secretary, "the motor is not a powerful one. It is probably one hired for the occasion."
They came out from the tower into the hall and passed Lady Mary—who glanced away with an odd expression—and Zoe Oppner. Zoe's pretty face was flushed, and her breast rose and fell quickly. Her eyes were sparkling, but she lowered them as the excited pair ran by.
The chauffeur was ready to start, when Mr. Belford, hatless, leapt on to a footboard of the throbbing car with the agility of a sailor, Sheffield more slowly following suit, for he would have preferred an inside berth.
A man in a blue serge suit touched the inspector's arm.
"What shall we do, sir?"