“I must, I regret, insist on your presence at the police-office,” he said authoritatively.
“Oh!” I cried, annoyed. “I suppose I must go through the same farce as at Zerbst last night.”
“You were at Zerbst—you admit that?” asked the man in uniform.
The instant those words left his lips I saw that I was trapped. It was, no doubt, as I had suspected. The superintendent of police at Zerbst had seen stamped upon the engines the maker’s name, “Napier,” and this he had reported by telegraph to Dyer in Dresden. Then a second telegraphic order had gone forth for my arrest.
“Well,” I laughed, “it is surely no crime to admit having been to Zerbst, is it? There seems an unusual hue-and-cry over this mysterious Englishman, isn’t there? But if you say I must go to the police-office, I suppose I must. Get up here beside me and show me the way.”
The man clambered up, when, in a moment, I put on all speed forward. The road was wide and open, without a house on it.
“No!” he cried; “back—into the town!”
I, however, made no response, but let the car rip along at a good fifty miles an hour. She hummed merrily.
“Stop! stop! I order you to stop!” he shouted, but I heeded him not. I saw that he had grown frightened at the fearful pace we were travelling.
Suddenly, when we had gone about seven miles, I pulled up at a lonely part of the road, and, pointing my revolver at his head, ordered him to descend.