But although he must have heard the cry, Mr. Belford, immovable at the wheel, drove madly ahead!
"What shall I do?" asked the chauffeur in an awed voice.
"Do?" rapped Sheffield savagely. "Pass him and block the road! He's stark, raving mad!"
So, along that white road, under the placid moon, was enacted the strangest incident of this entirely bizarre adventure; for Mr. Belford, in the hired motor, was pursued and overtaken by his own car, which passed him, forged ahead, turned across the road, and blocked it.
For one moment the Home Secretary, racing down upon them, seemed to contemplate leaving the path for the grassland, and thus proceeding on his way; but the chauffeur ran out to meet him, holding up his arms and crying:
"Stop, sir! Stop!"
Mr. Belford stopped the car and fixed his eyes upon the man with a look of real amazement.
"You?" he said, and turned to Sheffield.
"Who else?" rapped the inspector irritably. "What on earth are you doing, sir? Where's the quarry—where's Séverac Bablon?"
"What!" cried the Home Secretary, from the step of the car. "You have lost him?"