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direction he had taken. In a moment they had dived under the railway close to Paston Oatvile station, and swept round into the open current of the London main road.

Saturday was not yet far advanced enough to have released its stream of pleasure-traffic, so late in the year especially. Their right of way was disputed only by occasional lorries and market-carts. Two motor-cycles they overhauled, with a spasm of hope each time, which died down upon a nearer view. The road was for the most part a gentle switchback, rising and falling over the long folds of the countryside, and at the top of each incline their eyes swept the stretch in front of them for a sight of the fugitive. The surface in front of the engine seemed to spring into a cascade and jumped out on you suddenly; the sere hedges became streaks of gold.

They had gone ten miles without sighting their quarry, and the sergeant began to grow anxious. "The expresses stop at Weighford," he said, "and that's only a mile or two on." He turned to his colleague behind. "D'you remember what time the express from the north stops at Weighford? Quarter to twelve? That's bad. You see, sir, if he gets to Weighford before we catch sight of him, he may drive through it or he may turn aside to the station; and if he makes for the station he'll most likely catch the express for London."

"So can we, if we don't get held up at Weigh-