The trees slipped behind, and the old farm rose in front.
At the gate of the yard stood the grey car—empty!
"Pull up! Pull up!" cried Mr. Belford.
But long before the car became stationary he had precipitated himself into the road.
Sheffield dropped heavily behind him, and grasped him by the arm.
"One moment, sir!" he said.
His voice was calm again. He was quite in his element now. A criminal had to be apprehended, and the circumstances, though difficult, were not unfamiliar. But strategy was called for; there must be no hot-headed blundering.
"Yes? What is it?" demanded the Home Secretary excitedly.
"It's this, sir: he'll give us the slip yet, if we don't go slow! Now, you take charge of the grey car. That's your post, sir. Here—have my revolver. Step out into the lane there, and see nobody rushes the car!"
"Good—I agree!" cried Mr. Belford, and took the revolver.