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phoned to the station at Binver, Reeves did a record time in starting and bringing round to the front his new Tarquin "Superbus." It was scarcely three minutes since the disappearance of the adventurous stranger when the two policemen, one at Reeves' side and one luxuriously cushioned in the tonneau, bounded off down the drive in pursuit.

"What does that car of yours do, Sergeant? Forty? I can knock fifty out of this easily, as long as we don't get held up anywhere. I say, what happens if some of your friends want to run me in for furious driving?"

"You'd get off with a caution, sir, and it wouldn't be in the papers. You're all right, don't you worry, as long as you don't run into anything." Indeed, at the pace Reeves was making, it seemed highly desirable that they should not. The motor-cycle was still out of sight, and it seemed likely enough that they were on a forlorn quest. About half a mile from the Club the road split into two, either branch joining the main London road, but one going southwards and one going northwards to meet it. Would the fugitive make for the crowded suburbs, or for the open country to the north? The question was fortunately decided for them when they saw a more than usually self-diffusive herd of sheep blocking up the northern arm. Nobody in a hurry would have tried to penetrate that bleating barrage when he saw a clear road to his right. Whatever his plans had been, it must have been the London