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Motor Pirate

<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> <h3>GONE AWAY</h3> <div class='unindent'>"Don't stir an inch until I give the signal," whispered Forrest in my ear, as soon as he saw I was fully awake. He was perfectly calm, and he closed the door in order to conceal us from the sight of any one entering the workshop.</div> The car pulled up outside. We heard the grate of the key in the lock, and the door creak on its hinges, as it swung open. There was a second grating noise, and I judged that the door of the inner yard had been opened by whoever had entered. There followed a few more pants from the motor, as it passed through the coach-house into the yard, and then everything was silent. The outer door shutting with a snap apprized us that the crucial moment was at hand, and my heart began to thump as I heard footsteps approaching. Forrest pointed to a vacant hook over my head, and I recognized why he had selected the harness-room for our hiding-place. The footsteps came slowly nearer, then stopped, and a long low laugh came from the lips of the unseen man. I thought we must have been discovered in our hiding-place and glanced at Forrest for instructions. He never[229] moved a muscle. He stood poised like a greyhound about to be slipped from the leash. The footsteps approached again. The door knob rattled as a hand was laid upon it. The door flew open. Forrest darted forward. I caught one glimpse of Mannering's face, for it was indeed he, and I saw it become suddenly livid. It was not the pallor of fear. His eyes flashed. He had doffed his coat and was holding it in one hand, and quick as was Forrest's spring, he was equally swift to meet it. His other hand passed swift as lightning from the door handle, and catching the edge of the coat, spread the garment in front of him. Forrest, missing his grip, plunged heavily into the wide folds of the garment. Mannering's arms closed as a vice. The door swinging back had momentarily blocked my passage. I thrust it open, and had taken one step forward to Forrest's assistance, when Mannering with a herculean effort, swung the detective from his feet, and hurled him full at me. It was a magnificent effort, and I went down with a crash amongst the remains of the lunch with Forrest on the top of me. The whole incident had not lasted twenty seconds, and before either of us could regain our feet, the door was slammed and locked. Forrest was the first to regain his feet, and he rushed at the door furiously. We were trapped. The door was a strong one of oak, and I remembered that it fastened by a couple of bolts on the other side. The detective worried the door like a bear at the bars of his[230] cage, but he could not move it. He gnashed his teeth, and he was white with rage. From the other side we could hear the sound of heavy objects being moved, and we guessed that our enemy was piling the most massive articles his workshop contained against the door to make it more secure. "D——n you, Sutgrove!" shouted the detective. "Don't stop to think, or we shall lose our man after all. Come, both together." I saw his intention, and I could understand and forgive his curse in the excitement of the moment. Together we hurled ourselves against the door. It did not move an inch, and a long low chuckle greeted the attempt from the other side. We tried madly again and again, but the barrier was immovable. Then I looked round for some tool which would enable me to break down the door itself. There were only the chairs available, and so I tore off the leg of one of them, and, bidding Forrest stand back, I swung the piece of wood round my head, and struck as hard as I could against one of the lower panels of the door. The improvised club flew into half a dozen fragments, but the panel had cracked. Forrest had provided himself meanwhile with a similar club, and directed his blows so effectively that the panel was driven out. I threw myself at the gap, trusting to be able to force my way through. What I saw filled me with rage. The wheels of the new car were moving, and right before my eyes the car[231] disappeared into the outer coach-house. I made an unavailing attempt to struggle through the aperture, but the attempt was hopeless. It was too narrow to admit even my shoulders. Withdrawing, I told Forrest what I had seen. "I had entirely forgotten Laver," he remarked, and putting his whistle to his mouth, he blew it shrill and clear. Then together we renewed our attack upon the door. The sound of a shout from the outside followed by a pistol shot made us work like madmen, and within a minute, another panel gave, and we managed to get at the bolts and draw them. The articles piled against the door toppled in all directions, as we finally forced our way out. We were too late. The outer door was wide open, and just on the threshold, was Forrest's unfortunate subordinate lying on the ground, with blood trickling down his arm. He struggled into a sitting position as we came out, and pointed up the road in the direction of St. Albans. "Gone away, sir," he said. "Hurt?" asked Forrest, pausing as he did so. "Not much; smashed shoulder, I fancy," remarked the sufferer philosophically. "I'll send assistance," said my companion as he rushed after me into the road, where I stood horror stricken at what met my gaze. Fifty yards distant, opposite the entrance gate of[232] Colonel Maitland's house, the new car was standing still. It was empty. The gate was open, and even as I watched, I saw Mannering come out of the gate, bearing in his arms the helpless figure of a girl. There was no need to guess who the victim might be. Even before I saw him appear, I knew intuitively why he had stopped. Had he not told Evie that on the third day he would return, bidding her be ready for him? I rushed forward towards the car, but before I had covered half the distance which separated me from it, he was aboard with his burden and I knew pursuit on foot to be hopeless. Yet, even as I saw him move away, there flashed across my brain one means by which I might possibly get on terms with my enemy. There was just one chance, and one chance only, of rescuing my darling from the Pirate, and that chance depended entirely upon the question as to whether the car upon which Mannering had returned was fitted with the same sort of motor as that on which he had departed. With the haste of a madman I returned to the coach-house I had just quitted. My hopes fell to zero. There was an unmistakable scent of petrol about the car. They rose again, however, upon a closer examination, for I saw at once that the motor was a turbine, though petrol was utilized in some way as a means of securing the necessary heat to secure the expansion of the gas for the starting of the engine, though I could see that once started, the expanded hydrogen was, as in the new car, ingeniously[233] utilized to produce the necessary heat. I was glad then that I had spent as much time as I had upon examining the car upon which the Pirate had escaped, for I was enabled to see that, if only a supply of the liquid hydrogen were obtainable, I should be able to put my wild plan into execution. As it was, the tank was nearly empty, so putting my shoulder to the car, I shoved it into the workshop where, unless Mannering had let it run to waste, I knew I should find a supply of the hydrogen. Thank Heaven, Mannering had forgot to empty the receiver, and filling the tank and tightly screwing down the nuts of the covering, I wheeled the car into the open road. There I saw Forrest leaning against the wall of the coach-house, a figure of inexpressible dejection. "Come and lend a hand!" I shouted. The light that flashed into his face, as he realized what I would be at, was extraordinary. He sprang forward at once to my assistance. Now, in my attempts to get at the machinery of the car, I had discovered the plates with which Mannering had been wont to disguise its shape, and it occurred to me that they performed the further purpose of diminishing the wind resistance, so that if I wanted to get the full speed out of the car it would be necessary to fix them in their places. I immediately set to work to join up the various sections, leaving Forrest to bolt them together. We worked like niggers at the job, and it was nearly completed when a curious sound came down the breeze. I looked up, and to my surprise I saw the Pirate once more approaching.[234] "Look!" I shouted to Forrest in my excitement, though there was no need to warn him. Nearer the Pirate came; still nearer. Every moment I expected to see him pull up and surrender. But it was a mad hope. He had not the slightest intention of so obliging us. As he approached, he suddenly increased his pace and flashed past us at full sixty miles an hour. Forrest fingered a revolver, but he dared not shoot for fear the bullet should find the slender form of Evie, who we saw was huddled close to his side. Mannering laughed as he passed us and waved his hand in derision. "There are a couple of masks in the coach-house," I said quietly to the detective. He darted into the doorway and returned a moment later with them, thrusting at the same time a bottle into his pocket. It took us no time to climb into the car and as, during his momentary absence, I had succeeded in starting the engine, we were in a position to move at once. For a hundred yards we travelled at the speed at which we were accustomed to see Mannering while using the car in the sight of men and in the light of day. Then with a word of warning to my companion, I pulled at the change-speed lever. The effect was marvellous. The car seemed to leap forward and the hedges suddenly transformed themselves into long green streaks. A cloud of dust on the road ahead gave the direction Mannering had taken, so I jammed down the lever to its limit and commenced the pursuit. At any other time[235] the idea of chasing the Pirate on one of his own cars would have delighted me beyond measure, but my thoughts were too much occupied as to the fate which might await Evie if we failed to overtake her abductor to allow room for anything else. Exactly what speed we made I cannot tell, it must have been nearer eighty than sixty miles an hour, but the smoothness of the motion was wonderful, and I felt not the slightest tremor. Mannering had disappeared on the Watford road, and in a few minutes we swept through the north end of the town and, directed by a boy at the cross roads, made for Rickmansworth. Forrest took charge of the horn, and kept it braying continuously. We slackened speed through Rickmansworth, for the streets were full of vehicles, and there we learned that the white car was five minutes ahead. Once clear of the streets I let the car go again, and we tore away towards Uxbridge. On reaching the main Oxford road once more a dust cloud in the distance served as a guide, and informed us that Mannering had crossed the highway, and gone away in the direction of Slough. The going was rough for a while, but I did not slacken pace, though the road was narrow, and to have met a cart would have meant certain destruction. The road broadened after a time, and I fancied we were gaining, for the dust cloud seemed nearer. We skirted Slough to the east, the guiding cloud bearing towards Dachet. Darting through that little riverside town at a pace which set the police whistles[236] blowing behind us, we came to the bridge across the Thames, and here we were informed that our quarry was barely a minute ahead, and running in the direction of Egham. A mile further on, at a straight piece of road, we first sighted the fugitives, and a cry of triumph escaped my lips. It was a little premature, however. Once again the silver car turned into a bye-road so winding that I was compelled, much against my will, to slacken speed. Then once more we came out upon a main road, to find our quarry not more than a hundred yards away as we swept out into the broad highway. And here, looking back, Mannering for the first time learned that we were on his track. At that moment, too, commenced a race which, I venture to think, will not soon be equalled in the history of the motor world. At all events, I trust it will never be my lot to take part in any similar trial of speed, at least, with such issues depending upon the result. Upon emerging from the bye-road we were a mile from Egham, and knowing the road, I asked Forrest to glance at his watch. The way was clear before us, and three minutes and a quarter later, we flashed through the railway arch at Sunningdale railway-station, four miles from the point where the timing commenced. But fast as we had travelled, Mannering travelled faster. When we reached Bagshot we learned he was half a minute ahead. We flew through the lovely pine country on the wings of the wind, through Hook, and so into Basingstoke. By this time we were covered from head to foot[237] with white dust, looking more like working masons than anything else; but wherever we went, I knew Forrest had the power to make the way easy. If he had been anybody else but a detective from Scotland Yard, we should never have got through Basingstoke, for there the police, warned in some manner of our approach, had drawn a huge waggon across the road, thus completely barring our progress. It was soon drawn aside when Forrest produced his badge, and once more we flew westwards. So through Whitchurch and Andover. How we succeeded in escaping accidents I cannot explain. Providence seemed to watch over both pursuers and pursued. We were always on the verge of a collision with somebody or something. Cottages, carts, pedestrians, cyclists, seemed to be flying by in a never-ending procession. Yet we touched nothing. Once past Andover the road became clearer, for instead of turning towards Salisbury, as I expected, the Pirate chose the road through Amesbury and Stonehenge. We swept over Salisbury Plain at a magnificent pace, but we did not catch sight of the fugitives, though now and again a glimpse of a distant dust cloud raised my hopes momentarily. At Wincanton we learned we were three minutes behind, and setting my teeth, I determined I would not slacken speed again until we overtook the fugitives or reached Exeter. The road was admirable hereabouts, and we ran so steadily that, but for the hedges flying past, we might have been sitting in [238]armchairs. After Ilminster the road became steeper, though it was yet too early in the year to be very rough. But how is it possible to describe a journey at the pace we were making? Our progress became dream-like to me. It was almost monotonous. One could observe so little, just an incident here and there to mark the stages in the journey. Thus I remember Honiton by the frightened scream of a cur which was swept off its feet by the rush of the air as we passed close at his tail. Then nothing of note until we reached Exeter. At the cathedral city we were told the white car was only a minute in advance. I began to wonder where the chase was going to end, for Mannering was still going westward without pause. Still we followed. Out on to the Launceston road; onward, ever onward until the bare hills of Dartmoor frowned upon us, and we had to slacken slightly for the long upward grind. Fortunately the hills were free from mist, and on reaching the summit of Whiddon Down we caught once more a glimpse of the white car before it disappeared in the distance. I was getting reckless, and I took the descent at a pace which blanched even Forrest's cheek. Then through a streak of white houses, which I fancied must be Okehampton. There was no need to inquire the way. At the pace both cars were travelling there was only one road which would serve either Mannering or myself. In fifteen minutes Launceston came into view. Then up again until from the top of Bodmin moor we caught fleeting glimpses of the sea on either side of us.[239] On still without pause, through Redruth and Camborne and Hayle. Finally a sight of them at last, as we opened up St. Michael's Bay as we came to Marazion. And here I thought the chase had come to an end. I was mistaken. <hr style="width: 65%;" />[240] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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