"Your bleeding powers would do credit to a bullock," he commented, as he cut away my shirt: "but beyond loss of blood, I don't think there's much harm done."

His first impression was correct. A cursory examination was quite sufficient to convince him that I was not much hurt.

"Just a nasty furrow," he remarked. "Pretty painful, I suppose. The bullet glanced off, turned by that leather coat of yours, I presume. Lucky for you; as it is, you will be all right in the fortnight."

I felt relieved by his tone, and assured him, when he had patched me up temporarily with strips torn from my shirt-sleeves and my own handkerchief, that I felt very little of the injury.

"Now take my seat," he said, as he buttoned my coat round me. "I think I have had enough experience of motoring to ensure my taking you in safety to the nearest surgeon. It's infernally bad luck, though," he continued. "I would swear one of us must have hit our friend, and if we were only in a position to follow him up, we should be pretty certain to effect a capture."

My mind had been considerably relieved to find that I was not seriously injured, and the dose of whisky I had taken had pulled me together.

"You've bound me up pretty tightly?" I asked.

"You are right enough until we find a doctor," he answered.

"In that case," I said, "if there's any chance of our catching our man to-night, I'm not going to chuck it away. Put the light back and let us get on."

My mind was made up on the subject. One reason was that physical pain always makes me feel mad, and I would have given a great deal to get even with the Pirate for that reason alone. Besides, call it vanity or what you will, I wasn't going to let any one say I had allowed a scratch to bowl me over. So the moment Forrest had replaced the light, I resumed my seat in the car, asserting that I was fully capable of driving.

The detective attempted to dissuade me from the attempt, but I was bent upon having my own way. He did not argue the question at any length, for as soon as he was in the car I backed into the middle of the road and jammed on our highest speed.

In three minutes we were at Buntingford, and there we nearly ran into a group of people who were gathered in the middle of the road. They were discussing, as it happened, the appearance of the Pirate, who had passed through the town twenty minutes previously. Here Forrest made another futile attempt to persuade me to see a surgeon immediately, but I would not listen to him. We swept onward. I could scarcely see, but I sent the Mercedes along recklessly, stopping for nothing until we reached Ware. I would never have driven in the manner I did in calmer moments. Forrest told me afterwards that his journey on the Pirate's car was nothing to it, for the car rocked so from side to side of the road that he was never certain whether I was not steering for the hedges; while at every bend his heart was in his mouth when he realized that the wheels were never on the ground together.

On the outskirts of Ware we learned that the Pirate had been seen approaching the town, but that, instead of passing through the narrow streets, he had doubled back in the direction of Stevenage. He had kept his twenty minutes' start and I was for following him. Forrest was of another opinion.

"According to his usual custom, he is obviously avoiding the towns," he argued; "and if, as I still suspect, his hiding-place is in the vicinity of St. Albans, we shall stand some chance of cutting him off if we take the most direct route. He cannot be badly hurt, or we should have picked him up before this, and under any other circumstance we are not likely to overtake him."

I saw the force of his reasoning and we flew on. We heard nothing of him neither in Hertford nor in Hatfield.

"Our only chance is at St. Albans," remarked my companion, and once more I put my car to top speed.

We were just about half way between the two towns when we saw the lights of a motor ahead. I sounded the horn, or rather Forrest did, but the vehicle made no attempt to get out of the way. We caught up to the stranger hand over fist, and not until we were nearly touching did I slacken speed.

As I did so the occupant of the car shouted out, "That you, Sutgrove? Never more pleased to meet with a friend in my life."

It was Mannering.

"Seen anything of the Pirate?" shouted Forrest, by way of reply.

"Merely had the pleasure of exchanging shots with him ten minutes ago," was the astounding answer. "Unfortunately he appears to have got the better of the exchange, for he has managed to put a bullet in my shoulder."

"We have had a similar experience, and Mr. Sutgrove is the victim," answered Forrest. "So I am afraid I cannot offer much assistance."

"I think I can get to St. Albans all right," he replied. "It's only the left, and I managed to get a handkerchief round it."

"If you will let us pass," I said, "I will run on to St Albans and see that assistance is sent to you."

"Oh, I didn't notice I was taking all the road," he remarked, as he drew aside.

Once more we drove ahead at our speed limit, and five minutes later we stopped before the police office. There we found every one in blissful ignorance of the fact that the Pirate was abroad. Nor did any one else see him that night. Again he had mysteriously vanished under circumstances which convinced the detective more firmly than ever that his retreat was somewhere in the vicinity of my home.



CHAPTER XIII

OF THE ADVANTAGES OF BEING WOUNDED

I SUPPOSE I must have lost more blood than I had reckoned upon, or else the excitement of the pursuit had been sufficient to keep me going; but whichever it was, no sooner had we pulled up than I collapsed. I was never nearer fainting in my life. In fact I had to take another stiff dose of whisky, and even then I was only too glad to relinquish the steering-wheel to Forrest, and let him drive me the rest of the way home. He never left me until I was safely in bed, and the surgeon he had summoned had stitched me up.

Fortunately my wounds proved, as Forrest had foretold, more painful than dangerous. The bullet had carried with it some shreds of cloth; and the removal of these from my arm was the only really painful bit of work the surgeon had to perform. However, the medical man insisted upon my remaining in bed, and I obeyed his orders for a couple of days; but on the third I felt so well that I rebelled against any further confinement, and though still considerably sore, I managed to get out and about.

I found I was a little bit shaky, yet I managed to get as far as Colonel Mainland's house, and there I found my adventure had been a blessing in disguise, for I could see from the manner in which she greeted me, that my last encounter with the Pirate had wiped from Miss Maitland's memory all remembrance of the previous occasion. There was only one thing to mar my enjoyment of the situation thus created. Mannering had unfortunately been successful in making himself a candidate for similar solicitude. His injury, however, was even more trivial than mine, the bullet having merely scored his shoulder. I wished devoutly it had missed him altogether, or been a few inches higher and more to the right; for in such case I should have had Miss Maitland's undivided sympathies and attention, whereas I had perforce to share them with my rival. I knew I had done nothing heroic; but if Mannering had not been hit I might at least have posed as half a hero, instead of which I had to be content with being a quarter of one.

However, I made the most of what glory I had earned, and I am bound to confess that I traded upon my sore arm in the most shameless fashion.

Fortunately the Motor Pirate at this time entered upon a long period of quiescence, so that I was free to make the most of my opportunity, and to devote the whole of my time to Miss Maitland's society. The detective was firmly of the opinion that this prolonged rest was due to one of our shots having found its billet, and declared that we should hear nothing more of him until he had repaired damages. The inaction, however, soon became very wearisome to him; and when a fortnight had elapsed without a single appearance having been chronicled, he became quite morose. By that time he had searched over the whole district, but not a trace of any other injured person could he discover; and he was as much at a loss for a clue to the identity of the Pirate as he had been when he first entered upon the job of running him to earth.

The Press by this time had nothing but jeers for the police and for the detective force generally. Meantime the most extraordinary steps were taken to secure the Pirate's arrest when he should renew his career. The Automobile Club had officially lent their assistance to the police, and night by night the principal roads of the county were patrolled by the members of the club, thirsting for the opportunity of distinguishing themselves by the capture of the marauder. The Pirate must have been vastly amused in his retirement as he read of the sensation he had created. I rather think that the man in the street looked upon the whole matter as the great sporting event of the century, and his sympathies were undoubtedly with the man who could so easily snap his fingers at the army of police, amateur and professional, who were engaged in the task of seeking him. In fact, if he had not committed the murder at Towcester, I am convinced that the public would have elevated him to the position of a great popular hero. Even as it was, he had no lack of apologists; and an eminent ballad-monger celebrated his exploits in some verses, which were immensely applauded when recited by long-haired enthusiasts at smoking concerts and similar gatherings. All this was gall to Forrest; and at last one day, three weeks after our encounter with the Pirate, he told me he could stand it no longer.

"I must try another line of country," he remarked.

"What line do you propose?" I asked.

"The only thing I can think of," he replied, "is to make inquiries in Amsterdam, to see if the diamonds which were taken from the mail, have been offered for sale. I am quite certain they have not been put upon the market this side of the water."

I was very loth to let him go alone; but he would not hear of my accompanying him.

"What! run away now, and let your friend Mannering have a clear field? I wouldn't if I were you," he remarked. "Besides, I can manage this sort of work better by myself."

His final argument was conclusive, and he went away promising to look me up immediately he returned, and expressing the hope that nothing more would be heard of the Pirate until his return.

On the very same day it happened that Mannering also took his departure from St. Stephens. I had mentioned in his hearing that Forrest had been called away, and he had then informed us—Miss Maitland and myself—that he had some business in Paris in connection with the patent tyre with which he was still experimenting, which would entail his absence for two or three days.

I sincerely trusted that his business would require a much longer period to transact; and as he was leaving by an early train the next morning, I took particular care he should obtain no opportunity for a private leave-taking with Miss Maitland.

It was not a sporting thing to do, perhaps, but I was so much in earnest about my love-making, that I had no scruples about spoiling as many of my rival's chances as I could. However, as it happened, I found somewhat to my surprise that my tactics were not unwelcome to Miss Maitland. She confessed as much to me the next day. She—— But perhaps it will be better for me to give in some detail the conversation we had upon this occasion, since it had a considerable bearing upon after events.

The morning after Mannering had departed was as brilliant a one as June ever bestowed upon mortal. Now that my rival was out of the way, I thought I might dispense with the sling which I had worn hitherto, and directly after breakfast I strolled across to the Maitlands', with the intention of persuading Miss Maitland to come for a ride on the Mercedes. I found her on the point of starting for a stroll, with the object of giving her favourite Irish setter a run, and I was easily persuaded to abandon my projected ride and accompany her instead. We chose the footpath between St. Stephen's church and the village of Park Street, and, stepping out briskly, we soon reached our destination; and as my companion would not hear of turning back, we continued our walk to Bricket Wood. There I insisted upon resting.

I had never seen her in higher spirits than she was that morning. She bubbled over with gaiety. So much so that I could not help commenting upon the fact.

"Yes," she replied frankly, in answer to my remarks on the subject, "I do feel gay this morning. I feel as if a load had been removed from my shoulders."

"Surely you can have no troubles," I remarked, half-banteringly.

A shadow alighted for a moment upon her face and was gone again.

"Nothing which ought to be a trouble. Nothing tangible and yet—— Oh, Mr. Sutgrove, do you—have you ever experienced a presentiment of something dreadful happening? No; that is not exactly what I mean. I don't know how to explain myself without——"

Then she paused, and I discreetly kept silence. Presently she resumed.

"Men are so stupid, or I would tell you all about it. You would never understand."

I saw my opening and made use of it. "We men may be stupid both individually and collectively," I said. "But I can answer for one man being sympathetic to anything you like to say to him."

She laughed. "I am so afraid you will think me silly."

"Miss Maitland—Evie——" I began.

"Hush!" She stopped me with an adorable smile. "You know you haven't caught the Motor Pirate, yet."

I summoned up the most injured expression permitted by my contentment with my surroundings and fell silent again.

"Poor boy!" she said mockingly. "It is unkind of me to remind you of your vow, when you have already done your best to fulfil it."

"Not quite my best, yet," I muttered sullenly.

"Anyhow I think you have done quite enough to warrant my taking you into my confidence."

She said this quite seriously, and glancing up at her, I saw she was looking into a glade of the wood with a preoccupied expression on her pretty face, which showed me that it was in reality no petty trouble which worried her.

"This scene is so delightfully restful. I love the cool green lights and the cool grey shadows of the woodlands in early summer," she remarked absently.

I had no eyes for aught but the face of the speaker, though I was indirectly conscious that there was a good deal of beauty in the wood. To me it seemed an appropriate background, that was all.

"Yes," I said. "But about this presentiment of yours——"

"It is hardly a presentiment; in fact, I don't know what to call it," she replied. Then she turned and faced me. "Now listen. There's an acquaintance of mine, whom I know very well and used to like a great deal. Yes, I think I am right in saying used to like. Well, for some undefined reason, my liking has change to something very like fear."

"For what reason?" I asked.

"None," she replied. "Absolutely there is no reason whatever."

"A case of Dr. Fell," I said. "Well, avoid your Dr. Fell."

"That is exactly what I am unable to do," she answered, and I could see she was speaking truly. "This fear has grown up in some degree, I think, from a subtle sort of consciousness that the person in question has it in his power to exert a curious influence over me. I seem to be drawn against my will into an attitude towards him which is not only against my judgment, but also against my inclination."

"Him?" I asked. "Him? Is it Mannering?"

"Why, what made you think of him? Does he affect you in the same way?" she said eagerly.

"Far from it," I replied. My first feeling was one of delight at discovering that my rival was more feared than loved. But as I thought over the matter, my astonishment grew. I had looked upon Mannering as a rival, and as a favoured rival, but I was not prepared to hear that Evie Maitland was afraid of him, or of any other man for the matter of that, and I said so.

"A month ago, I should have laughed at the idea myself," she replied, "but to-day——" She shuddered slightly. "Now you know why I feel so gay this morning. The fact is, when on awakening this morning I realized that I should be absolutely free from his presence for two whole days, I hardly knew how to contain myself for joy."

"Surely you must have some grounds for fearing him, something in his manner——"

"No. Yet I have thought—but it is nothing. When we have been alone together he has sat once or twice staring at me. I try to speak to him, but he sits and stares and stares, with his eyes so bright and all the time so sombre—so penetrating that I feel that he sees quite through me. Just like one does in those unpleasant dreams where one's clothes have somehow disappeared. To-day, and now, it seems very silly, yet I am certain I shall feel exactly the same the next time I meet him. Then when he sees how confused I am he gives a sort of a laugh, an unpleasant kind of a chuckle without any merriment in it."

"He's a d——d cad!" I cried hotly.

"I—I don't know," she answered. "I don't seem to mind at the time. It is just as if I were in a dream, for I am so fascinated in watching him that I have no thoughts left for myself. It is when he has gone that the thought seems unpleasant. Then I always think I will never see him again, but the next time he calls I feel bound to do so. There, now I have confided in you, don't tell me I am a weak hysterical girl or I really don't know what will happen to me."

She laid one of her little hands on my arm and looked imploringly into my eyes.

"I know you are neither weak nor hysterical," I replied.

"You will help me, won't you?" she asked.

I took both hands in mine and looked straight into her eyes.

"The only way I see of helping you," I said deliberately, "is for you to give me the right to do so."

She did not take her hands from my grasp.

* * * * *

"Do you know, Jim," she said an hour later, when we came out of the wood into the meadow, "that I told you not to speak to me until you had captured the Motor Pirate."

"You could not answer for me, darling," I replied. "But I should not have done so if I——"

"Had not found the temptation to do so irresistible," she said, taking the words out of my mouth with so bewitching an air, that again I found an irresistible temptation confronting me.

We did not revert again to the curious influence which Evie had declared Mannering exercised. She would not allow of it. She wanted to think that he had gone completely out of her life, and that no more shadows were ever to fall across her path. And I was too happy myself to wish to refer to anything which should bring an unpleasant memory to her mind.

I shall never forget our walk home. The silver thread of the Ver, the old monastery gate-house and the ruins of Sopwell Priory in the foreground, the churches of St. Stephens and St Michaels on either hand, and in the centre of the picture the Abbey of St. Albans brooding over all. We decided to be married in the abbey. I trod on air.



CHAPTER XIV

A CLOUD APPEARS ON LOVE'S HORIZON

MANNERING remained absent for a week, and during that time I learned from Evie a good deal about the curious dread which he had inspired in her mind. Had inspired, I say, for she assured me it had passed away, and that she felt quite safe now she was promised to be my wife. Our betrothal had been announced the day after the never-to-be-forgotten walk to Bricket wood, and I had hastened to make it known as widely as I could, for I could think of no likelier method of ensuring her against any further annoyance on the part of Mannering. When he saw that he had lost, I could not think that he would do otherwise than retire gracefully from the scene. If, however, he failed to take his failure kindly, I should not have the slightest hesitation about sending him about his business. I should have been tempted to do so without further delay, if there had in reality been anything in Mannering's conduct to which open exception could have been taken. Evie recognized there was nothing of the sort as strongly as myself, and she was even averse to do as I suggested, and ask her father to hint to him that he should, for a while at least, cease his visits to the house.

"You see," she remarked, "if he had made himself offensive in any other way, I should have welcomed the opportunity of speaking to papa about it. But he has not. His attitude has been outwardly perfectly courteous, and papa would only laugh at me if I were to tell him what I have told you. He would not believe me if I told him I was afraid of Mr. Mannering."

"Besides, you are now no longer afraid?" I said.

"No; I am no longer afraid of him. I am quite sure of that," she repeated.

The manner in which she made the assertion ought to have warned me that she was not quite so certain on the point as she was willing to believe, but no such thought crossed my mind at the time.

"Anyhow," I continued, "if when you see Mannering again, you feel any recurrence of your dread, it will be easy for me to pick a quarrel with him, and so compel him to absent himself from the house. You see, he will be unable to come here without meeting me."

Evie pouted a dissent. "You must not do that," she remarked. "A quarrel with him would make both of us look ridiculous. Everybody would conclude that you were jealous; and I—I should not like to imagine any one thinking that I gave you cause."

"My own darling!" I cried.

* * * * *

When once more we resumed our conversation, I bethought me of another plan, and I suggested to Evie that she could always find a retreat at my home in Norfolk, if she wanted to get away from Mannering's presence. My aunt, I knew, would be delighted to entertain her. She agreed at once to adopt this course if the occasion should arise. Thus I thought I had provided against every contingency for the short period which was to elapse before our wedding-day.

When Mannering did return, however, it seemed as if we had been making preparations to meet a contingency which was never likely to arise. He learned of Evie's engagement from the Colonel, the morning after his return to St. Albans. He took the news very well. Much more coolly than I should have done had I been the disappointed one. In fact, a few minutes after he had been made acquainted with Evie's engagement, he came to us where we were in the garden, and congratulated us forthwith.

"You are a lucky fellow, Sutgrove," he said. "I had cherished a faint hope that your luck might be mine, and now the only consolation I have is that the best man always wins."

Spoken in a different tone than that which he employed, his words would have made a very pretty compliment, but from his lips the words seemed to be very like a sarcasm. However, I could pardon the expression of a little bitterness under the circumstances, so I made no reply; and, turning to Evie, he continued—

"I trust your new tie will not put an end to the old friendships, Miss Maitland?"

"Why should it?" she asked.

"They often do," he replied.

"Not if the old friendships are the real thing," I interjected.

"No; not if they are the real thing," he repeated slowly. "I hope you will find mine to be the real thing."

A faint smile fluttered across his face as he spoke, and was gone in an instant. Neither Evie nor myself knew what to reply, and an awkward pause ensued. He seemed to feel the awkwardness of it just as much as either of us, and he changed the subject with an inquiry as to whether anything further had been heard or seen of the Motor Pirate during his own absence in Paris.

"I have been far too busy to even look at the papers," he explained, "and he might have been captured for all I know."

"No such luck," I replied. "This time he seems to have disappeared for good."

"I see I shall have to take up your job, and devote my energies to the task of his capture," he said laughingly. And, turning to Evie, he said, "I presume you will not allow Sutgrove to take any risks of that sort now, Miss Maitland?"

Again there was something sarcastic in his tone, and I could see by the flush in Evie's cheek that the question had angered her. She answered almost hotly—

"I am quite sure if any one can capture the Pirate, Jim can."

"I have no intention of giving up the pursuit just at present," I added quietly, with a glance of thanks to my dear one for her ready championship.

"I don't think I should trouble myself about any Motor Pirate if I were in your position," he replied. "I fancy if I were engaged to be married to the best girl in the world, the first thing I should do would be to eliminate every risk from my life, instead of looking about for fresh ones. Besides, it seems scarcely fair on the girl, does it?"

"Surely that depends on what the girl thinks, doesn't it?" asked Evie. "A good many girls haven't much admiration for the man who would act as you suggest."

"Ah, well!" returned Mannering. "I see now where Sutgrove has succeeded. The prize always goes to the adventurous."

Again there was a subtle provocation in his tone—something very like a sneer. An angry retort was on the tip of my tongue, but a glance from Evie checked it, and soon after he left us together.

"You must not be angry with him," she said, as soon as we were alone. "He does not know you as I do; and besides I think he—he must be disappointed."

"There's not the slightest doubt about that," I answered emphatically. "He is badly hit, and he takes it pretty well considering. I know I shouldn't have taken my gruel so coolly. In fact, that is just what I don't like about him. One never knows what is going on behind that handsome mask of his."

"Handsome," she said. "Do you call him handsome?"

"Yes. I should say he was one of the handsomest men of my acquaintance. How could you ever bestow a single glance or thought upon me when——"

Evie placed her hand upon my lips. "You dear, foolish old boy," she said. "There is only one face in the whole wide world which I think is really handsome, and I have thought so from the first time I caught sight of it."

There was another interlude in our conversation—they were pretty frequent in those days—and the subject dropped for a time. It recurred frequently, however, and gradually I perceived that whatever subject we discussed, sooner or later, Mannering's name was bound to crop up. At first I rather encouraged Evie to talk about him; but, after a while, I discovered that I was ministering to the feeling which I thought had been destroyed. I could not help but notice that, soon after Mannering's return, Evie's high spirits became subdued—her gaiety less spontaneous. Yet when I asked her whether Mannering's presence produced any effect upon her, she assured me to the contrary.

Nor did I see how Mannering could possibly exert any influence over her. I took particular care that he should never have a tete-a-tete with her. Sometimes she would not even see him for a couple of days at a time, and when she did, it would be merely for a few minutes, and nearly always in the presence of Colonel Maitland as well as myself.

It appeared to me, indeed, as if Mannering even took pains to avoid seeing much of her; and, though I watched him closely, his bearing was always studiously correct. He was the same insouciant person who had impressed me so favourably upon my first introduction to him. But whether it was owing to the distrust which Evie's fear of him had impressed upon me, or because I could really see things which had before been hidden from my sight, I certainly did observe about him certain singularities which I had never before remarked. I saw, for instance, that, in speaking of his face as a handsome mask, I had been nearer the truth than I had known. On more than one occasion, while his lips were parted in a genial smile, I observed in his eyes an expression strangely at variance therewith. It was the expression of a cat when it crouches to spring upon a mouse. I have seen that look bent upon my betrothed. I have caught it directed at myself. There was a restlessness, too, which gave the lie to his nonchalant manner. I could see that he forced himself to remain still. His fingers were always busy with something or other.

These were trifles, and equally trivial seemed the sarcasms which he directed at me now and again. These I attributed to the ebullitions of temper, natural enough in a defeated suitor. In my heart I pitied him, for I fancied I knew what a struggle it must have cost him to stand aside and watch a successful rival's happiness.

As the days passed, a certain constraint appeared to have arisen between Evie and myself. I told myself that the idea was foolish, and yet I knew that it was not so. Mind, I had not the slightest doubt as to the strength of Evie's love for me. She expressed it clearly, yet there was something drawing us apart, and I began to be afraid.

Towards the middle of June the tension became so great, that I could see the time had arrived when it would be necessary to do something; and, one night, I determined to mention the matter. Accordingly, after dinner, I persuaded Evie to come into the garden, with the intention to speak firmly in my mind. There, however, in the faint light of the summer night, with the sweet scent of the early roses filling the air, I forgot everything in the blissfulness of my lot. We had paced our favourite walk once in silence—my heart was too full of delight for speech—when, as we retraced our steps, to my surprise, Evie burst suddenly into passionate tears. Some minutes elapsed before I could calm her, and when I managed at last to do so, it needed all my powers of persuasion to get her to confide in me the cause of her outburst. At first she said it was nothing but the hysteria of happiness. Then she asked me, with a fierce clutch on my arm, if I should think her unmaidenly if she asked that our wedding-day should be hastened. We had fixed it for September, so I at once suggested July.

Her mood changed at once. She said she was not feeling well, and that I must not listen to her. But being now thoroughly alarmed at her obviously nervous condition, I questioned her until I elicited from her that all her old dread of Mannering had returned, and with double intensity, in that it was accompanied by a presentiment of disaster to myself.

"Jim," she said, looking up into my face with eyes which glowed in the faint light like stars, "I shall not feel sure of you until I am with you always. I want to be near you to look after you. Every moment you are absent from my side, I am imagining all sorts of horrible things happening to you. And it is worse to bear, because, it seems to me, that I am the cause of it all."

I strove to laugh away her fears, but, say what I would, I could not dispel the thought in her mind that some disaster threatened our love. Probing her mind for the foundation of her belief, I was not surprised to find that Mannering had something to do with it.

I did my best to make her mind easy, while determining that I would at once take steps to secure change of air and scene for her at some spot where my late rival should not come. She became tolerably composed at last, and I took her back to the drawing-room, where I was glad to find Mrs. Winter, in whom I recognized a most useful sedative for over-excited nerves.

We had a little music, and with that and the commonplaces of conversation, the evening passed until eleven had struck, and the Colonel's yawns warned me that the time had arrived for taking my departure.

The Winters and myself had just risen to leave when we heard a hasty step on the gravel outside, and, turning, we saw a man's figure at one of the French windows opening on to the garden.

"Hullo!" said the Colonel. "Who's that?"

The new-comer stepped into the room, and, as the light fell upon his face, I recognized Forrest. He nodded to me and turned to the Colonel.

"I trust you will excuse this unceremonious call of mine, Colonel Maitland," he said. "But I was desirous of seeing Mr. Sutgrove immediately, and I guessed I should find him here."

"I'll excuse you, if you will come to the smoking-room and drink Mr. Sutgrove's health in a whisky-and-seltzer," replied the Colonel, heartily.

"I don't think I can spare the time," said the detective, quietly.

"Nonsense, man! You must drink the health of my future son-in-law!" he declared.

"Most certainly," remarked Forrest. "I can find time for that, even though——" He paused, and then said, with quiet incisiveness, "Even though the Motor Pirate is upon the road again!"



CHAPTER XV

A CLUE AT LAST

IMMEDIATELY Forrest had made his dramatic announcement, I glanced at Evie, for in view of the apprehension she had exhibited earlier in the evening, I was just a little doubtful as to whether she would take kindly to the renewal of my attempts to catch the Pirate. To my satisfaction, she exhibited no signs of trepidation, if she did not appear altogether delighted that I was to have another opportunity of distinguishing myself. In fact as soon as the detective had followed Colonel Maitland from the room, she told me that she was glad.

"I don't fear for you a scrap, Jim. At least not much," she said. "I know you won't do anything foolish, for my sake."

I interrupted with, "Nor for my own."

"And do you know," she continued, "I have a queer sort of impression that when the Pirate is captured, this horrible depression which has been hanging over me will disappear altogether."

"Then captured he must be without delay," I said.

"Though I don't see how Mannering will be affected thereby."

"I am not so sure about that," said Evie.

"You surely cannot think that Mannering is in any way connected with the Motor Pirate?" I inquired in surprise, for any such idea had long passed from my mind.

"I don't know," she remarked dreamily; "I don't know. But I should not be surprised. I really could believe anything about him."

I reminded her of the steps Forrest had taken to assure himself that there were no grounds for such a suspicion, but she was not convinced; so I forbore to continue the discussion, changing the conversation to the arrangements to be made for her proposed visit to Norfolk. It was decided that I should write at once to my aunt, and that she should be ready to start the moment I received a reply. We had settled all the preliminaries by the time the Colonel and Forrest returned, and I bade her good night, feeling quite easy in my mind.

"I am delighted to be able to congratulate you," said Forrest, the moment we were outside.

"I am the luckiest man in the world," I replied.

"You are," returned the detective, emphatically. "All the same, I should not have been sorry if Miss Maitland had stuck to her intention of refusing to listen to you until after the capture of the Pirate."

"Why?" I demanded.

"For purely selfish reasons," he replied. "I take it you will not be so keen on the chase. Men in your position don't take risks."

I held out my hand to him. "Put your fist in that," I said. "What I have promised, I stick to; and, to tell the truth, I was never keener on anything in my life."

"That's good news for me," he answered, and I could tell from his tone that he meant it. Besides, he was not a man given to the paying of idle compliments.

We were walking quietly towards my cottage as we talked, and the impulse came upon me to confide to him the presentiment which Evie had in regard to the capture of the Pirate relieving her from her burden of fear. That necessitated my explaining as well as I could the curious influence which Mannering exercised over her. Forrest listened attentively.

"Curious," he muttered, when I had finished. "It is very curious that the fellow should have produced such an impression on Miss Maitland. By the way, he was not at the Colonel's to-night."

"No," I replied.

"I wonder——" he began. He never finished the sentence, nor did he speak again until he reached my door. There he paused, and said lightly, "I think I should like to discover whether the disappointed lover is at home to-night. Are you prepared for a little amateur burglary, Sutgrove?"

"Ready for anything," I assured him.

"It seems a little absurd to suspect Mannering," he remarked meditatively. "Yet there are times when a woman's intuition is a better guide than a man's ratiocination."

"You didn't get any clue in Amsterdam, then?" I asked tentatively, for I was curious to hear the results of his journey.

"No, no. Nothing at all in Holland."

"If Mannering were the Pirate, and had tried to dispose of his plunder there, you would in all probability have caught him; but he would scarcely have chosen to go abroad at the same time as yourself," I remarked.

Forrest emitted a long, low whistle. "By Jove!" he said. "Then it was indeed he whom I saw in Vienna."

"In Vienna?" I queried.

"When did he leave England?" asked the detective, ignoring my question.

"The very day you left," I replied promptly.

"Come, this is getting interesting," he said. "Tonight we will most certainly let the Pirate do his worst on the roads. We will look for a clue to the mystery of his identity nearer home." He looked at his watch. "It's a little too early to pay our call, so if you don't mind, I will come in and we can discuss the matter at leisure."

To say that Forrest's enigmatic utterances filled me with excitement, very inadequately expresses the state of my mind. He followed me indoors, and, while I mixed a drink for each of us, he saw that the windows and doors were closed. Then seating himself in an easy chair, he selected a cigar and remarked—

"Now we can talk."

"I thought you only intended to go to Amsterdam," I began.

"That was my intention," he replied. "But before giving you the results of my inquiries—it won't take long, by the way—I should like to ask you one or two questions, if I may?"

"Fire away," I said.

"Did you mention to any one where I had gone?"

"Not to a soul. At least certainly not at the time, though I have probably mentioned the matter to Miss Maitland since."

"Oh, you young lovers!" he interjected.

"She would not speak of the matter, I know. I gave out to every one else that you had been recalled to London."

"Anyway, it would not have mattered if she had, as Mannering left on the same day as myself. Where did he say he was going?"

"He said he was bound for Paris on business connected with some patents he was applying for. He told us he would be absent for two or three days; and as a matter of fact, he was away for ten."

"That would about fit in," remarked the detective, after a moment's thought. "But of that you shall judge for yourself." He moistened his lips and pulled at his cigar until it was well alight, and then he commenced his story.

"I carried out my original intention, and the night after I left you I caught the 8.30 at Liverpool Street. The next morning I was in Amsterdam. I stayed there three days, until I was quite convinced that no such parcel of diamonds as had been stolen had been offered for sale to any of the Dutch dealers. I could not have failed to hear of it if any such attempt had been made. While there I had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of a Russian agent, whose work I fancy must have been largely political. Ivan Stroviloff his name was, and he had acquaintances in most European capitals. I discussed the matter with him. He thought that an attempt to dispose of the stones was much more likely to be made in Vienna or St. Petersburg than anywhere else except Paris. I was aware of our agents in Paris having been fully informed, and I knew it was not worth my while to go there; but beyond notifying the Austrian police, I doubted whether any steps had been taken in regard to Vienna, so I determined to proceed to the Austrian capital. Stroviloff proved a very decent fellow, rather an exception to the general run, for I don't take to those Russian agents as a rule; and as I was able to give him a few hints and some introductions over here—he was going on to London—he gave me in return letters to some of his colleagues in Vienna and Petersburg, thinking they would probably be of more use to me than application through the usual official channels. Well, I went on to Vienna. I won't weary you with a history of my fruitless inquiries, it would take far too much time. Anyhow, I did find eventually that a parcel of diamonds had been disposed of there, and, as Stroviloff had predicted, I obtained the information through one of the Russian agents and not through the Viennese police. I will say that I do not see how the latter could have helped me, for the purchaser was the representative of a Petersburg house who happened to be in Vienna for the purpose of attending the sale of the Princess Novikoff's jewels—you probably saw all about it in the papers."

It was a remarkable sale, and the extraordinary prices realized are probably fresh in most people's memories. I told Forrest I had seen accounts of it, and he continued.

"Unfortunately I did not get the information until after the representative in question had returned to Petersburg. There was nothing left for me to do but to follow him there if I wanted to satisfy myself as to whether the stones of which I had heard were really the ones stolen from the mail. It was rather like a wild goose chase, but I went. It was the day before I started that I saw the man who reminded me so forcibly of your friend Mannering. It was a very fleeting glimpse of a face which looked in at the door of a restaurant where I happened to be dining, and I should not like to swear that it was he whom I saw. At the time, I put my fancy down to one of those casual likenesses which sometimes lead even keen observers to accost total strangers in the streets as acquaintances. The likeness was, however, undeniable, in spite of something strange about his appearance. However, I paid no attention to the incident, and the next morning I was on my way to Petersburg. There I found no difficulty in obtaining full particulars from the dealer. I have no doubt but that he has purchased the stones which were stolen from the Brighton mail. In size, weight, and quality they answered to the description perfectly. I learned from him that the man from whom he had bought the stones had been introduced to him by a well-known Viennese jeweller. The price asked, though not very greatly below market value, was low enough to tempt him to purchase. The man who offered them suggested that payment should be made, not to himself, but to his firm in Amsterdam. The transaction seemed in every way bona fide, the explanation as to the low price being that the Amsterdam firm was rather pressed for cash, and so compelled to realize some of its stock, but was unable to do so in Amsterdam for fear of jeopardizing its credit. The man who sold the stones gave the name of Josef Hoffman, and the merchant produced his card which bore the name of Jacob Meyer and Meyer, and an address in the De Jordaan, Amsterdam. He was described to me as a tall, powerful, fresh-coloured, fair-haired German, of pleasant manners and address. The Petersburg merchant's representative had given him a draft on an Amsterdam bank and, on reaching the Russian capital, after examining the stones, his employer had authorized the payment of the draft by telegraph.

"As soon as I obtained these particulars, I started once more for the Dutch city without wasting much time. Needless to say, I was too late to catch my man. The office in the De Jordaan I found to be a room which had been taken for a week or two, and then vacated, by a person whom I easily identified as the fair-haired German. The draft had been exchanged for a draft on the banker's London agents by the same man. I came on to London immediately, but Hoffman, or whatever his name may be, was a week ahead of me. I traced him to the London bank where he had cashed his draft. He did it in the coolest manner imaginable. He left it one day saying that he required gold, and that if they would get the amount ready—it was over L4000—he would call for it the next day. He actually allowed two days to elapse before doing so. Then he came in a cab with a handbag and took away the gold. That at present is as far as I have got. I only learned the last of these particulars this afternoon, and of course I went at once to the Yard to make my report and to arrange for the circulation of the description of the fair-haired German throughout the country. Then I came on to you."

Forrest finished his drink and stood up. "Now you know as much about the case as I do," he remarked, "and I fancy it is about time for us to pay our proposed visit to our friend Mannering."

"I don't see how you can connect him in any way with Hoffman," I said, as I rose from my seat.

Forrest smiled. "I omitted to tell you one thing," he observed. "I could not see the hair of the man in Vienna whose face seemed familiar to me. But one thing I did remark. The man with Mannering's face wore a fair moustache."

"But Mannering's is dark," I argued. "It was dark when he went away and dark when he returned."

Forrest held up his hand mockingly. "In these days of scientific progress nothing is easier than for the intelligent leopard to change his spots. Ask the brunette when fashion decrees that fair hair is to be worn, and ask again of the blonde how she manages when the exigencies demand raven tresses."

That settled me. "There's only one thing more," I said. "When did you hear that the Motor Pirate was at work again?"

"At St. Albans. I called at the police office on my way here. He was seen about ten o'clock this side of Peterborough and going north."

"It will be rather a sell if Mannering is at home," I remarked.

"He will not be at home," replied Forrest with conviction.



CHAPTER XVI

I COMMIT A BURGLARY

THE night was moonless, but there was that soft diffused light in the air invariable in June, except on the cloudiest of evenings. There was just enough of it to enable us to see our way as we strolled towards Mannering's house. When we reached it everything appeared still. All the windows were dark. I felt my heart beginning to beat faster than ordinarily as Forrest lifted the latch of the gate opening on to the strip of garden, which lay between the road and the house. We walked along the turf edging of the path in order that our feet might not crunch upon the gravel. Forrest was first. He went straight to the front door and tried it. It was fast.

"We will try one of those French windows," he whispered after returning to my side.

The house was a two-story cottage with a verandah opening on the south side facing a lawn. On to this verandah windows opened from both the dining and sitting-rooms, the servants' quarters being on the other side of the house.

We went round the angle of the building and tried the first window. It was fastened. With cat-like tread Forrest glided on to the second. It was one of the two giving entrance to the sitting-room. A sibilant sound from the detective's lips took me to his side. Without hesitating a second, he threw back the casement and stepped into the darkness.

"Come," he muttered, and I followed.

Heavy curtains veiled the windows and past these the darkness was thick enough to be felt. Of a sudden there was a crack which made me start. It was only Forrest striking a match. With imperturbable confidence, he stepped towards a table and lit the lamp which stood thereon. I felt exceedingly uncomfortable, but Forrest obviously knew no such qualms, for he at once proceeded to examine every object in the room. So far as I could see, there was nothing at all unusual about the place. The room was in exactly the same condition as I had observed it hundreds of times before when I had dropped in for a smoke and a chat. On the table, beside the lamp, was a tantalus and a glass, and a half empty syphon. The glass had been used and the ash on the floor, beside an armchair, showed that a cigar had accompanied the drink. A pair of slippers lay on the hearth rug as if they had been carelessly kicked off. Forrest pointed to them.

"Mannering is not at home," he said. "If he had gone to bed, these would not be here."

"I hope he will not return while we are about," I muttered.

"It would be a little awkward for him," said Forrest, calmly. "I should be compelled to arrest him in self-defence, and I am not prepared to do so at present."

He did not, however, hurry his movements in any way as he proceeded to deliberately search the room. Only once did he pause, and that was when he discovered a continental time-table of recent date. He brought the book to the light and turned over the pages carefully. A gleam of exultation crossed his face, as he pointed out to me a trace of tobacco ash between the pages which gave details of the train service between Vienna and Amsterdam.

"We are on the right track," he observed.

But that one slight piece of evidence was all that the most careful examination of the room revealed, although there was not a drawer nor a shelf which he did not overhaul.

"We must try his bedroom," he remarked, when he had finished with the sitting-room.

"What about the servants?" I asked.

"If they are not asleep, they will merely imagine that it is their master going to bed," he replied, as taking a candlestick, which stood on an occasional table near the door, he passed out of the room. I followed him upstairs, with my heart in my mouth, and pointed out to him the door of the room which Mannering occupied. As Forrest turned the handle and entered, I was quite prepared to make a bolt for it. I should not have been a bit surprised to have discovered our suspect sleeping quietly within. But Forrest turned and beckoned me to enter. The room was empty, and this time I assisted the detective in his search. Between us we subjected the bedroom and the adjoining dressing-room to the closest scrutiny, but without result. We could not, unfortunately, make an exhaustive examination, for there were one or two ancient presses which were locked, and the Chubb safe let into the wall by the bed head was likewise fastened.

The detective shrugged his shoulders when we had done.

"As we haven't a burglar's outfit, we shall have to wait until we have a search warrant," he muttered.

With a disappointed air he led the way out of the room. On the landing he paused. His keen gaze had rested for a moment on a travelling bag which stood under a table. There were the remains of a number of labels upon it and he scanned them carefully. There was no sufficient of any one of them left for identification.

"He's a clever devil," he whispered.

Then he opened the bag and again his countenance lightened. Inside was an empty bottle bearing the label of a London chemist, with the additional superscription—"Peroxide of Hydrogen."

"The fair hair is accounted for," commented Forrest. "And as for the dye which would restore his locks to their natural colour, I presume he has it under lock and key."

He slipped the bottle into his pocket and returned downstairs, I following at his heels.

"There's not enough at present against him to warrant his arrest," he said, when we were again in the sitting-room.

"Then why not have a look round his workshops," I suggested.

"His what?" queried Forrest, eagerly.

"Haven't I ever mentioned them to you? Haven't you ever heard that Mannering spends all his spare time in experimental motor construction?" I asked in surprise.

"I think I have heard it mentioned, but until this moment I have always thought it was chaff," he replied.

"Good heavens!" I ejaculated.

"I should have been inside that shop a couple of months ago," he continued, "if I had thought—— Whereabouts is the shop?"

"Just at the back of the house and abutting on the side of the road," I explained. "The old coach-house and stables." Then as the thought occurred to me, I continued, "Why I heard him tell you of his work himself."

"That's precisely the reason why I paid no attention to it," said my companion. "Can you take me to the place?"

I led the way through the French window, Forrest putting out the light before he followed me, and carefully closing the casement behind him as he stepped on to the verandah. A clock, somewhere in St. Albans, struck the half after two as we crossed the lawn in the direction of the workshop.

"We have only a short time at our disposal," whispered Forrest. "The darkness is lifting, and our friend will soon be returning."

We passed through a side door, which we found unlocked, into what had once been the stable-yard. But we could get no further. The two doors which gave admission to the building were firmly fastened, and there was no available window by which we might gain entrance. We retraced our steps, and, passing out of the door, approached the stables from the road. By this time the dawn had made such progress that we knew our chances of getting inside before Mannering's return were dwindling rapidly. We found no more likelihood of obtaining admission from this side than the other.

"I cannot arrest a man on the evidence of a few grains of tobacco dust, and an empty phial," declared Forrest, savagely, as he shook the tightly locked door. "Listen!" I said.

Borne on the wind came the throb of a motor. So still was the air that when the sound first reached our ears it must have been a mile away. The sound drew nearer and nearer, and while it was still a quarter of a mile distant, I recognized the familiar noise of Mannering's car, a sound as dissimilar to the hum of the Pirate car as it was possible to conceive.

"Forrest," I cried, turning to my companion, "we must be mad to think that Mannering could play the part of the Motor Pirate on that old car of his."

There was something so irresistibly ludicrous in the idea, that we both indulged in a hearty fit of laughter, and with one accord we turned and walked down the road.

"He may keep his fast car elsewhere," remarked the detective, when his mirth had subsided.

"It would be difficult to bring the guilt home to him if we failed to discover the car," I replied.

A few seconds later we met the man whom we had so lately suspected. I felt a tinge of shame at the thought that, a few minutes previously, I had been sneaking into his house in the hope that I should find evidence to convict him of a crime. By this time dawn was sufficiently advanced to allow of recognition, and as he came level with us Mannering pulled up.

"Hullo, Sutgrove!" he shouted. "You're about betimes. Been on the same job as myself?"

"What's that, Mr. Mannering?" asked Forrest

"Looking for an opportunity to pay back this little debt," was the light answer, as the speaker tapped his shoulder gently.

"Any luck?" said Forrest, dryly.

"Not a scrap," was the ready reply. "You see I'm a bit handicapped with this old car, for unless the fellow happens to take the same road as myself, there's precious little chance of my picking him up. Still, if you do not soon succeed in catching him, I think I shall have a good try myself."

"I suppose by that you know who he is," I remarked, more in order to see what he would say than in the hope of eliciting anything.

"Not the slightest idea on the subject," he responded promptly. "I am merely hoping that in a few days I shall be in possession of a new motor from which even the Pirate will be unable to escape."

I made a gesture of surprise.

"Fact," he continued. "My experiments have proved successful at last. In a week I shall have delivered to me the new motor I have designed, and then the Pirate had better look out. Good night."

Waving an adieu, he set his car in motion, and jogged along until he reached the door of his coach-house. We watched him dismount, unlock the door, and disappear inside.

"It beats me," remarked Forrest.

"Surely you do not still harbour any suspicion concerning him?" I inquired in amazement.

Forrest made no reply. His head was bent, his brow knitted deeply, his hands clasped behind him as we turned and walked back to my place. He did not speak until we stopped on my doorstep.

"I wish he had not seen us," my companion then remarked. "He will be bound to tumble to the conclusion that we suspect him, and will be on his guard."

"Then you do still suspect him," I cried again.

"If I had one scrap of direct evidence," replied the detective, emphatically, "I would have him under arrest within half an hour. Only one little scrap," he almost groaned. "But, as it is, my reputation would not survive if I made a mistake."

"Why, you don't imagine that he would go so far as to shoot himself just to avert suspicion," I asked, still incredulous.

Forrest drew himself up smartly. "Good Lord! What a fool I am! What—a—blind—dunderheaded—jackass!" he cried.

"What's the matter now?" I inquired smiling, for the detective was groping in his pockets. "Have you lost anything?"

From his waistcoat pocket he produced a small leaden bullet, and he held it outstretched in the palm of his hand.

"Here have I been wasting weeks on the continent, while with this I might have settled the matter once and for all."

"How?" I asked.

"I needed but to compare this with the bullet the surgeon extracted from Mannering's shoulder. This is the one which killed the poor fellow near Towcester. If Mannering's bullet is identical with this, I should have nothing more to say; but," he continued meaningly, "both your revolver and mine are of a different calibre to the weapon which fired this. If the bullet which hit Mannering should prove to fit either of our weapons, there would be no need to seek for further evidence. I must see that surgeon at once."

He started off rapidly down the garden path. I hurried after him and laid my hand on his arm.

"Steady, old man," I remarked. "You can hardly knock up a hardworked medical man at 3.30 a.m. just to ask him a question."

Forrest stopped and gave a short laugh. "Upon my word, I had entirely forgotten what the time was. No, you are quite right. There is no need for such excessive hurry. Mannering is safe enough for the present."

"At least, for the next eighteen hours," I observed, after glancing at my watch. "Meanwhile, your room has been kept ready for you."

"A little sleep will not come amiss," he answered, yawning; "though it seems almost a pity to go to bed on such a morning."

He was right. By this time dawn was breaking with a splendour I have never seen equalled before nor since. From east to west the sky was stained and flecked with crimson and gold, and our faces glowed ruddily in the reflected light. We both fell to silence, as with our faces to the east we watched the uprising of the sun; and, until the sky paled as the sun made its appearance above the line of the horizon, we did not stir.

Then Forrest drew a deep breath. "There's been the beauty of destruction in the sunrise," he remarked. "We shall have a storm before nightfall."

He followed me indoors, and, leaving him at the door of his room, I went to my own. I got into my pyjamas, but I did not feel inclined to sleep for the sunbeams were glancing in at my window, and all about were the sound and movement of the awakening earth-creatures. I wheeled an easy chair to the window, and wrapping a blanket about me, took a novel I had been reading and strove to fix my attention on the pages. I could not do so. Whether it was the reflex action of the brain from the excitement of the evening or not, but the fact was I felt unaccountably depressed. I fought against the feeling as best I could. But I could not get out of my head the idea that some great danger was threatening, not myself, but the one dearest to me in the world. From my window I could see her home, and I drew the chair into a position where my eyes might rest upon the roof which sheltered her. There was some consolation in this, and I watched until I eventually fell into an uneasy slumber, from which I awakened unrefreshed and ill at ease.



CHAPTER XVII

STORM

MY tub pulled me together to some extent, but I still felt restless when I went downstairs. Forrest had already gone out, leaving word that he expected to be back to breakfast at the usual hour. I went into the garden, but the sun was shining in a cloudless sky and there was not a breath of air stirring. It was insufferably hot and I was glad to return into the shade of the house.

The detective came in panting, a little later, with disappointment plainly written in his face.

"The surgeon out?" I inquired.

"No," he answered. "But he was not much use though. Mannering kept the bullet. He wanted to retain it, so he said, as a memento of his adventure."

"Perfectly natural," I commented.

"Perfectly," returned Forrest. "The unfortunate result is, that his doing so prevents me from dismissing the possibility of his being the Pirate from my mind. And I ought to be doing something. Last night the rascal seems to have been everywhere. Apparently he was actuated with a desire to destroy everything which stood in his path. One would judge him to have become absolutely reckless. Instead of avoiding the towns, he courted observation by passing through them. This morning at the police office, I heard particulars of at least half a dozen cases of unoffending people being ruthlessly ridden down, and Heaven only knows how many more there may be of which the details are not yet to hand. The sheer devilry of his progress is simply amazing. What it comes to is this, Sutgrove. If I can't get hold of him within the next week I may as well resign the force at once. If I don't resign I shall be dismissed, and quite deservedly."

I tried to say something consolatory, but he would not hear me; and it was not until after he had made a savage attack upon the eggs and rashers and had swallowed three cups of tea, that his usual equanimity returned.

"What's the next move?" I asked, when breakfast was done.

"I am going to town to see if I can identify the purchaser of this bottle," he replied, holding up the phial he had taken from the bag in Mannering's house the night before; "and to inquire whether anything more has been heard of the fair-haired German."

"Then I can be of no assistance to you, to-day?" I said.

"None whatever beyond remaining here and keeping an eye upon our friend. I shall ask for another man to-day to assist in shadowing him, but until his arrival I should be glad for some one to keep me acquainted with his movements. If, as I presume you will, you go over to Colonel Maitland's, you cannot help seeing whether he leaves his house."

I promised to do as he wished, and shortly after he had gone, I took my hat and strolled over to the Colonel's place.

Evie appeared to have quite recovered from her fears of the previous evening, and being busily engaged upon domestic duties, she sent me to join her father under the shade of a big tree on the lawn. There solaced by an iced lemon squash and the newspaper, I managed to pass the morning very comfortably. Mannering gave no sign of existence.

I took myself home for lunch, remembering letters I had to write. I felt much easier in mind, and made a hearty meal in consequence. The result was that I fell asleep over my cigar afterwards.

I awoke suddenly, wondering where I was. Then I thought I must have slept for hours, for a blackness only one degree less than that of night brooded over the earth. I took out my watch lazily, and was surprised to see that the hands only pointed to five. I sat still for a minute or two striving to collect my thoughts, for my head was heavy. I held my watch to my ear. It had not stopped. I jumped up and walked to the window, and I saw at once the reason why I had imagined that night had fallen. From east to west and from north to south a dense pall of cloud hung over the earth. Not a leaf moved, and except for the shrill chirp of a grasshopper, not a sound broke the uncanny stillness.

"By Jove!" I muttered, "we are going to have it hot."

There came upon me an intense desire to be near Evie during the progress of the storm which threatened every moment to break. I did not wait to analyse the feeling, but catching up my hat I bolted straight out of the window. I had only a couple of hundred yards to traverse, but when I reached the Colonel's house, so hot and heavy was the air, that I was soaked from head to foot in perspiration. I paused at the gate to wipe my brow with my handkerchief, and at the moment the storm broke. I heard the crackle of the lightning as it slid from the sky, and the thunder clap followed so swiftly that for a moment I felt deafened. I waited no longer, but raced across the lawn and into the open French window of the drawing-room. The apartment was unoccupied, so I passed through into the hall. That was vacant too, and I continued my search through the morning-room to the Colonel's sanctum. There I saw the genial warrior standing at the window, and watching the play of the lightning with every appearance of interest.

"Hullo, Colonel!" I said. "Where's Evie?"

"Isn't she in the drawing-room? She was there twenty minutes ago," he replied.

"She is not there now, I have just come through," I explained.

"Then I fancy she will be in all probability in her bedroom with her head under the sheets," he said, chuckling.

"At all events I will send one of the maids to see," I said.

I rang the bell, and after giving a message to the maid who answered the summons, I joined the Colonel at the window. He appeared to be very pleased with the progress the storm was making.

"Thank goodness this will clear the air," he explained, as a reason for his satisfaction. "It was so hot that I could take no lunch but a mayonnaise, iced strawberries, and a glass of hock. Don't you think the air is cooler already? I begin to feel quite an appetite for dinner. My only fear is that, if the thunder has not turned everything sour, it will have frightened my cook out of her senses, and there will be nothing to appease my appetite."

The window at which we were standing faced towards Mannering's house. There was a stretch of lawn outside and, beyond, a thicket of shrubs and small trees between the grounds of the two residences. I was glancing in the direction of these, when I thought I saw something white moving in the shrubbery. I was about to say something to the Colonel when a crash of thunder drowned the utterance. At the next flash of lightning, I perceived that my eyes had not deceived me, and in an instant I jumped to the conclusion that it was Evie who was out there in the storm. Without a moment's hesitation I vaulted through the window and raced across the lawn. The Colonel must have thought me mad.

It was something of a shock for me to find that I was right in my conjecture. There, huddled up under the spreading branches of a cedar, stood my darling, her eyes wide open, her cheeks blanched with terror.

"Why, Evie, dear heart! What is the matter?" I cried.

At the sound of my voice she started, and, with a little cry of delight, she threw herself into my arms.

"I knew you would come—I knew you would come!" she sobbed hysterically.

The cedar under which she was standing was close to the hedge, and I fancied, as she spoke, that I saw a figure move away from the other side of the hedge. I could not verify my suspicion, for Evie needed all my attention. She had fainted. Catching her up, I bore her across the lawn to the house.

It was some time before she came to herself, and then, at her own request, I left her with her maid and returned to the Colonel. Needless to say I was very much worried in my mind. Why Evie should have been sheltering in the shrubbery from the storm, with the house so near, seemed unexplainable, and I awaited with anxiety the time when I could learn the reason from her own lips. The presence of the figure—the figure of a man—on the opposite side of the hedge, was also inexplicable. I should have guessed it to be Mannering, but I would have staked my life upon Evie's truthfulness when she had told me how much she had learned to detest him. Besides, her delight was obvious when I arrived on the scene.

Not until the evening, however, did I get a chance of speaking to Evie again. The Colonel and I dined alone, Evie sending word to say that the storm had left her with a headache, and that she would join us later. I was so silent during the meal that my host grew quite merry at my expense.

"Wait till you are married, my boy," he remarked. "There will come times when you will be grateful for these feminine headaches."

I hate cheap witticisms of this sort, but I could hardly resent them from the Colonel as I could have done had they fallen from any one else's lips; but I fancy he saw at last that they were distasteful to me, for after a while he forebore to comment upon my dour looks.

About ten Evie came downstairs. By this time the storm had passed away entirely, and the air was deliciously fresh and cool after the rain. It was a strangely subdued girl who came nervously to me, and shrank away from me as I kissed her.

"No, Jim, no! You mustn't do that," she said.

Colonel Maitland had slipped away upon his daughter's entrance, and we were alone.

"Why, darling, what ails you?" I asked.

"Nothing—nothing. Oh! don't ask me," she almost wailed in reply.

I put my arm about her waist, and drew her down beside me to a seat on a big Chesterfield drawn before one of the windows. She resisted faintly at first, but presently I heard her give a sigh of content, and felt her nestle towards me. Then I spoke.

"Tell me, dear, what possessed you to go out into the storm?"

"I don't know," she murmured—"I don't know. I—I felt that I must. I didn't think it was going to break so soon, and then the first flash of lightning and the voice of the thunder! It was like judgment day."

"It is all passed and over," I remarked, with a man's clumsy attempt at consolation.

"I wish it were—I wish it were," she repeated, with an indrawn sigh.

"It is all over hours ago," I said.

She broke away from me passionately. "Oh! Jim, you don't know," she cried.

"I don't know what?" I inquired, as I attempted to draw her to me again.

She pushed my hands away with a gesture of despair. Then with an effort she rose to her feet, and looking at me straight in the face, she said—

"Jim, this must not go on. It is more than I can bear."

I rose to my feet too, my heart beating wildly. "I don't understand you," I answered, though I comprehended her meaning only too well. "What must not go on?"

"Our—our engagement," she faltered. She was white to the lips as she said the words.

I staggered back under the blow, then leaning forward I sought to take her hand.

"No, Jim, no!" she said. "It's no use; I can never be yours. It is impossible—quite impossible. My love would be fatal to you! I know it will! He said so."

"He?" I asked.

She faltered. "Oh! I cannot help believing him. He tells me that I am to be his." She shuddered. "Jim, you must leave me, and never see me again. I cannot have your—your blood on my hands."

She held out her slender white fingers, and I saw that the ring which I had placed there had been removed. Though my brain was awhirl, I tried my utmost to be calm. I think the effort was successful, and that my voice was fairly even when I said—

"Come, darling, a promise is a promise, and my own little girl is not going to break her promise because of the threats of a jealous rival."

She shuddered from head to foot. "You don't know him as I know him," she murmured. "He would stick at nothing, Jim. I don't think he is a man; he must be a devil. He can do things no man ever thought of doing."

"You exaggerate his capacities for evil," I said, as equably as I was able, for her agitation was so great that I feared for her reason. "What has Mannering been saying to you, for it was he whom I saw behind the hedge when I brought you out of the storm, I suppose?"

"You saw him?" she queried. "Then it is true. I have been hoping you would tell me I had been dreaming again."

"I saw nothing very terrible about him," I remarked.

"You don't know him," she said again.

"He will have cause to know me before many hours have passed," I declared savagely.

She clung to me in terror. "No, Jim. You must not go near him. You do not know the power he exercises. This afternoon I was sitting thinking of you when I became conscious that he was telling me to come to him. There was no reason why I should have thought so. He was not in sight, but I was bound to go."

"And you found him waiting for you?" I asked quietly, though my brain was aflame, for I was determined to ascertain all that had passed between them.

"He was waiting for me," she repeated—"waiting for me and the storm. That must have come at his bidding too. It was horrible waiting for him to speak—horrible! I tried to ask him what he wanted, but my tongue was tied. Not until after the first peal of thunder did he utter a word. Then he told me the time was nearly at hand when he should come for me." I clenched my fists involuntarily, but I did not interrupt my darling's story. "I begged of him to leave me free. He paid no heed. 'I am going away,' he said. 'For three days you will see nothing of me, though all England will be talking of my deeds. On the third I shall return. Mind you are ready.'"

"Did you not mention me?" I remarked weakly. I hardly knew what to say, for it seemed to me that either Evie must be the victim of some extraordinary hallucination, or else that Mannering was mad.

"He mentioned you," she replied. "'Tell Sutgrove,' he said, 'that he has three days in which to capture the Motor Pirate and make sure of his bride. After that he will be too late. Tell him, too, that death waits on the fool who fails.'"

"It's a sporting challenge," I muttered, for I had no doubt now in my mind that Mannering and the Pirate were identical.

My words did not reach Evie's ear, for she continued,

"Now you know why I have put away your ring. He is too strong for us. I must do as he bids me. I——"

I interrupted her sharply. "Have you everything packed to go away on your visit to Norfolk to-morrow?" I asked.

The tone of my voice roused her. She looked at me wildly.

"Why—why——" she said. Then the expression faded out of her face. For the second time that day she had fainted.



CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH THE PIRATE APPEARS IN A FROLICSOME HUMOUR

THE fainting fit which terminated my conversation with Evie alarmed me tremendously, and as soon as I could summon assistance I sent for a doctor. She came round before the medical man arrived, but I did not revert to the topic which had agitated her. Indeed, she appeared listless and disinclined to say a word on any subject. Colonel Maitland was less worried than myself, but even he was anxious until after the doctor had seen her and assured him that his daughter was merely suffering from over excitement, and that a sedative and a good night's rest would probably restore her completely.

I was not so sure that such would be the case, and when she had retired I thought it well to take the Colonel into his study and give him as full an account as I could of all that had led up to the fainting fit. He listened to my story with attention, and when I had done, though I could plainly see that he thought his daughter's fears were due to her own morbid fancy, yet he agreed with me that it would be well that she should have a change of scene at the earliest possible moment.

After arriving at this decision I determined to at once seek out Mannering, and demand from him some explanation of his conduct, for I could not conceive that Evie's story was entirely the outcome of her imagination. It was a delicate subject to discuss, yet I did not hesitate. I was in no humour to mince matters. My anger, though I had kept it well under control hitherto, only needed the slightest fanning to bring it to a white heat, and I longed whole-heartedly that Mannering would afford me some excuse for giving physical expression to my feelings.

I walked up to his front door, and knocked in a manner to denote with sufficient distinctiveness that the mood of the knocker was the imperative. I could see by the lights within that the inmates of the house had not retired to rest, but I had to repeat my summons before there was any response. Then I heard footsteps within, and the door opening an inch or two, a voice inquired who was there.

"Is Mr. Mannering in?" I demanded.

"Mr. Sutgrove, is it?" replied the voice, and upon my answering in the affirmative, the door was thrown open, and I saw the two maidservants standing in the hall.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the parlourmaid. "We didn't expect any one at this time of night."

"That's all right," I answered. "Can I see Mr. Mannering?"

"He's gone away for a day or two, sir," said the girl.

"That's very sudden, isn't it?" I asked. "I saw him this afternoon."

"Yes, sir. He said nothing about it to us until after dinner. Then he packed his handbag and went away on his motor."

"It's a confounded nuisance," I remarked. "I wanted to see him on important business. Did he say where he was going?"

"He said Cromer, sir, but he did not leave any address." Then, after a momentary hesitation, she added, "Is—is anything wrong?"

I looked at her keenly. She dropped her eyes, and I could see there was something on her mind.

"What makes you ask?" I enquired.

"I—I don't know," she replied, with obvious embarrassment.

"There must be something or you would not have asked," I said encouragingly. "Come—out with it."

She still hesitated, but the housemaid was bolder. "I'll tell the gentleman if you don't, Sarah," she declared. "It's like this, sir," she rattled out volubly: "the master, Mr. Mannering that is, has been so queer in his ways lately that Sarah and me 'as been quite scared. Not that he 'asn't been quite the gentleman. He always was that, wasn't he, Sarah? But he's been that restless and bound up in himself lately—walking up and down in his room and talking to himself. He always was one to shut himself up in that nasty old coach-house with his experiments and things, but he was quiet, and we never took no account of it. But lately he's been different."

"How?" I asked.

"Well, instead of going to bed like a Christian he's up all hours of the night. It ain't only that. He slips out as if he didn't want us to see him, and when we've known he hasn't been at home we've found he's taken the trouble to tumble the bed to make it appear as how he slept in it."

"Pooh!" I remarked. "If that's all, my servants would probably say the same about me. You need not be alarmed about such trifles."

"But it's not all," said Sarah, taking up the story. "The nights he goes out are just the nights the Pirate makes his appearance."

"Those are just the nights I am away from home," I said.

"But you have the detective gentleman with you," argued the girl, "and when you come back I warrant you do not bring diamond studs back with you that don't belong to you."

"What!" I cried. "What!"

"It's truth, sir," said the housemaid. "A week ago, just after he came back from Paris, I was sweeping the floor of his bedroom, when I sweeps up a diamond stud. Now, I knew he never had such a thing——"

"I suppose you know exactly what jewellery he has?" I interrupted, laughing.

"He always was a very careless gentleman until the last month, before which he left his things lying about all over the place, but then he had a safe put in his bedroom, and he never so much as left the key lying about. However, I mentions the stud to Sarah, and we talks it over and puts two and two together, and Sarah thinks that if he doesn't ask what has become of it, it might be as well as if we told the detective gentleman about it."

"Quite right," I remarked. "You might let me look at the stud, though."

After a little pressing the girls fetched the trinket, and I perceived that it very closely resembled the stud Winter had worn on the night of our first encounter with the Pirate. I said nothing about this supposition to the maids, but bidding them to be careful not to mention the matter to any one until they had seen Forrest, whom I promised should call upon them, I left the house.

Though disappointed in my original intention of forcing an explanation from Mannering, I was by no means ill pleased with the result of my visit to his house. My suspicions as to his identity with the Pirate had become considerably stronger, and once that identity was established I fancied I should have little difficulty in preventing any further annoyance at his hands.

Yet when I came to think calmly upon the subject I could not fail to see how frail was the foundation upon which my suspicions were built up. The fancies of a girl, the suspicions of a couple of gossiping servants, and the discovery of a stud, which might or might not prove to be the one which had been stolen from Winter. I longed for Forrest to return, for I felt utterly incapable of resting, and as he had not put in an appearance by midnight, I got out my car and went into St. Albans to meet him. At the police station there was no news of him to be obtained, but I did learn that the Pirate had been seen, his presence having been reported from the vicinity of Bedford.

Knowing that it would be impossible for me to sleep until I had seen Forrest; knowing, too, how unlikely it was that he would now return to St. Albans before morning, I thought I might at least have one shot on my own account of bringing off the capture I so ardently desired. So, in case of an untoward accident happening, I scribbled a note to the detective, telling him briefly what I had heard from the servants, and my intentions; and making sure that my revolver was in working order, I bade my friends at the police-station good night, and departed.

I knew it would be useless to take the direct road to Bedford if I wished to meet the Pirate, and, as he had been reported going east, I took the route through Hertford, trusting that I might be able to cut him off upon his return. I gleaned nothing concerning him at either Hertford or Ware, and was so doubtful of proceeding further in that direction that I left it to the arbitrament of a coin to determine whether I should go on by a road with which I was unacquainted to Cambridge through Bishop's Stortford, or take a route I knew through Royston. The choice fell upon the Stortford road, and later I was glad I had taken it, for about a mile to the south of Stortford I discovered that I was upon the right track.

I was bowling along at about fifteen miles an hour when I came upon two horses grazing at the road-side. They galloped off at my approach, and, a few seconds later, I came upon a specimen of the Pirate's handiwork, which at first sight was irresistibly ludicrous. A brougham was drawn up at the side of the road, and, bound to the wheels, were a coachman and a footman, clad in gorgeous liveries. The coachman was fat and florid, the footman a particularly fine specimen of flunkeydom, and their faces, as the light of my lamps fell upon them—they could not speak, for they were both gagged as well as bound—were so convulsed with terror, that I could see they did not look upon me as a friend. As I dismounted from my car to go to their assistance, I heard a dismal wail from the roof of the vehicle and, looking up, I perceived a portly old lady perched upon the uncomfortable eminence.

I made an attempt to explain that my intentions were purely pacific, but as I could elicit nothing from the old lady but appeals to spare her life, I turned my attention to the two men, and speedily released them from their bonds. By the time they were loose they had realized that I was a friend; but it was some time before I managed to obtain from them an account of how they got into such a mess. Even when their powers of speech had returned they were unable to give a lucid account of the affair.

Of course it was the work of the Pirate. They had been returning with their mistress—the old lady on the roof of the brougham—from some local coming-of-age festivities, when they had met the rascal. He had bound the servants, set the horses free, and, after robbing the old lady of all the jewellery she wore, he had compelled her to climb to the position where I discovered her, threatening to return and kill her if she moved from her position for an hour. It needed much persuasion before she ventured to descend from her perch; but with the assistance of the coachman, I managed to get her inside the brougham, and further assisting in securing the two horses, I left them.

This incident delayed me for nearly half an hour, and it was a good deal past one before I again set out on my quest. The brougham had been stopped just near a bye-road, and as the footman had assured me that the Pirate had taken this path when he departed, I thought I would follow. I could see for myself that a motor-car had passed that way, for the thunderstorm of the previous day had left the roads heavy in places, and the marks of his tyres were plainly visible.

I had followed the road for about a couple of miles further when I came once more upon some of the Pirate's victims. These, too, were returning from the same function at which the old lady had been a guest, when they fell into the clutches of the Pirate. In this case my assistance was not required, for the two young ladies of the party had recovered sufficiently from their fright to have already set at liberty their male companion and the coachman. They told me of their experiences, and after I had heard them, I thought that Forrest's idea that the Pirate was a madman more likely than I had done previously.

When stopped by the Pirate, the husband of one of the ladies had shown fight until he had been felled by a blow from the butt end of a revolver. The coachman had discreetly made no resistance. Then, after securing the jewels the women wore, the Pirate had displayed a freakish humour quite new to his character. He had insisted upon the two women dancing for his amusement in the road, threatening to shoot the husband if they did not comply with his request. They assured me that he had sat chuckling with laughter, and urging them on with all sorts of wild threats, until they fell from exhaustion. They were splashed with mud from head to foot, and their dainty frocks presented a sorry sight. In addition they told me that they could barely stand, for their feet were cut to pieces, since, at the first steps of the weird dance, their slippers had stuck in the mud, and they were given no opportunity to stop and recover them.

I did not wait to hear more than the barest outline of the story, for I learned that he had left them not more than ten minutes before my arrival on the scene, and with the heavy roads, I thought there was at least a chance of some lucky accident bringing me face to face with my quarry.



CHAPTER XIX

A HOT SCENT

I RAN on through the night, but I could not make any great progress. I was now involved in a maze of Essex bye-roads, totally unknown to me, and every few minutes I was compelled to dismount, and search for the tracks. I never lost them, however, until I came once more to a high-road. The curve of the tyre marks at the junction of the road gave me the direction I needed, and, letting my car go, in four or five minutes I found myself running into the electric-lighted streets of a town. The place was deserted, but eventually I found a policeman, and of him I inquired whether anything had been seen or heard of the Pirate. There was no need for me to describe the appearance of the pirate car. It was as well-known throughout the land, as the Lord Mayor's coach, but he had seen nothing of it, and was quite positive that it had not passed through the town. An ordinary car had passed about half an hour before my arrival, and though the constable's description of the car was not very lucid, it was sufficiently near the mark to make me think of Mannering.

"I fancy the man you describe is a friend of mine," I said. "Which direction did he take?"

"He went straight along the Colchester road," was the astonishing reply.

"The Colchester road?" I inquired. "What town is this, then?"

"This is Chelmsford, sir," he answered, with a surprise equalling my own.

I could see my unguarded question had awakened his suspicions of me, so I made haste to remark that I had not realized how quickly I had travelled, adding that I might have known there was no other town of the size thereabouts.

"I am afraid," I added, "that if you had met me outside the borough you would have had a case for the Bench in the morning."

"I don't take no heed of speed myself, sir, when the roads is clear," he remarked; "but when the traffic's thick, it's another matter."

I thought his sound common sense deserved a reward. Anyway it got one, and with a cheerful good night, I set my car going at a pace which made me hope that any other constable I chanced to meet would prove as intelligent as he from whom I had just parted. It is about twenty-two miles from Chelmsford to Colchester, and, in spite of the greasy state of parts of the road, I managed the distance in thirty minutes.

Every one of those minutes I expected to be able to overtake Mannering; but I saw nothing of him, and by the time I came to Colchester, I began to fancy that he must have given me the slip at some bye-road. From my inquiries at Colchester, I learned, however, that I was still on the right scent; but I was mightily puzzled to discover that though he was driving the old car which he had always declared was unable to compass more than twelve or fourteen miles an hour, he was still half an hour ahead of me.

He was still going away from town, and I followed. There is no need for me to give in any detail particulars of my journey that night. Day was breaking when I came into Ipswich, and it was broad daylight when I passed through the long, untidy street of Wickham Market. Mannering still kept ahead, and I followed doggedly. I heard of him at Saxmundham, but when I inquired at Blythburgh, I found I had missed him, and I had to hark back to Yoxford before I got on his track again. He had taken the side route to Halesworth, through which he had passed in the direction of Beccles. By this time he was an hour ahead of me, and, as he had left Beccles by the Yarmouth road, I went ahead as fast as I dared. It was not quite my highest speed, for by this time I was both tired and hungry, and the strain of travelling over unknown roads at a high speed at night made my head swim. I knew that unless I could soon get food and rest I should soon be fit for nothing. So immediately I reached Yarmouth, I went to a hotel, ordered breakfast, indulged in a hot bath while it was preparing, and went to sleep in my chair directly I had eaten the meal.

The waiter awakened me about ten. I went down to the beach and indulged in a swim, and, returning to the hotel, amazed the waiter by ordering and doing justice to a second breakfast before taking my departure.

On leaving the hotel, my first consideration was to get my tank refilled, and, that done, I sent off a couple of wires, one to Evie and the other addressed to Forrest, at my own place, telling each of them to communicate with me at Sutgrove Hall if anything happened, for it was my intention to call at my home if I could possibly manage to do so.

My next business was to search for traces of Mannering in Yarmouth, but it was some time before I ascertained that the man I imagined to be he, had left by the coast road through Caister. It was a tedious job to track him through the Norfolk lanes, for he had turned and doubled as if anxious to throw a pursuer off the scent, and it was one o'clock before I eventually struck the high-road between Norwich and Cromer. There I finally lost him, owing chiefly to the fact that the day was fine, and a large number of motor-cars were on the road in consequence.

By this time I was beginning to think my impulsive action to be more than a little foolish, but in order that my journey should not be altogether wasted, I determined to run on to Cromer, lunch there, and afterwards proceed to Sheringham, near which delightful village my home was situated, and seize the opportunity to make arrangements with my aunt for Evie's visit.

In pursuance of this plan, in half an hour's time, I walked into the dining-room of the Royal Hotel at Cromer. You may judge of my surprise when I saw Mannering seated at a table at one of the windows. He observed my entrance, and, rising, greeted me heartily.

"Hullo, Sutgrove!" he said. "This is indeed a welcome surprise. I had not the slightest idea you were in this part of the country."

"If you had, I presume you would not have chosen it for the scene of your exploits," I replied.

The expression of astonishment which spread over his features at my rejoinder was so perfect that I felt all my suspicions begin to crumble away.

"I don't follow you," he remarked.

His manner was either the result of one of the best pieces of acting I had ever seen in my life, or due to absolute unconsciousness of my meaning. It made me remember that though there were undoubtedly suspicious circumstances connecting him with the Motor Pirate, yet so far there was not one iota of direct evidence. I thought it best to temporize.

"Oh," I remarked; "I was only referring to your attempts to cut the records with your old car."

He smiled calmly before replying. "You may be nearer the truth than you think. I've had a new motor fixed in the car—an idea of my own, and I find she travels at quite a decent pace. That's why I left home last night. After the rain I thought the roads would certainly be clear enough to give me the opportunity of making a fair test. The engine is a model of the one I have designed for the new car which I mentioned—last night was it? No; the night before."

I was fairly staggered at his assurance. His demeanour was entirely without the suggestion of his being in any way aware that he was an object of suspicion.