"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.

"Were you not afraid of meeting the Pirate? I heard he was abroad last night," I said.

"Afraid!" he remarked witheringly. "Afraid! All I am afraid of is, that some of your Scotland Yard friends will be beforehand with me in his capture, and that is an adventure which has a particular appeal to me, since he left his mark upon me here." He tapped his shoulder significantly. "I have promised myself to repay this injury with interest."

"Well, I suppose we are as likely to meet him here as anywhere," I ventured to remark.

"I hope so," he answered. "But I am not stopping here for long. I've taken a bed for the night, because I feel confoundedly tired after last night's run. But what brings you down here? Are you motoring?"

"In the first place I wanted a word with you," I replied.

"With me?" The amazement in his voice was obvious.

"Yes," I said; "that is my principal object."

"But how did you discover my address? I left no word with any one."

"I'll tell you later," I said.

"Well, we have plenty of time to talk," he replied. "If there's any little difficulty in which I can be of any assistance, I need hardly assure you I am at your service. But hadn't you better have lunch first?" He lowered the tone of his voice. "Unless you wish the waiters to become acquainted with your affairs, I should think what you have to say could be much better said outside. Neither pier nor esplanade are much frequented at this time of the year."

The suggestion was so natural and reasonable that, after a moment's consideration, I decided to accept it.

All through the meal he chatted as easily as if there was not the slightest possibility of anything happening to interrupt the friendship which had always ostensibly existed between us. The longer we talked, the more puzzled I became. His manners were so natural, so fearless, that it was quite impossible for me to believe that I was sitting at lunch with the Motor Pirate. He was very curious to know how I had learned of his intention to come to Cromer, and I was induced to tell him of my experiences on the previous night. I watched his face keenly while I narrated the stories of the Pirate's victims. He listened quite gravely, not even the ghost of a smile crossing his face when I told him of the ludicrous pictures presented by the old lady and her two servants.

"It is no laughing matter," he observed. "The rascal was bad enough when he confined his attentions to men; but now he has taken to bestowing them upon women, he deserves no mercy, and when I am able to get upon his track, he will get none."

"Then you are really hoping to join in the hunt?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I'll let you into my secret. At my place at St. Stephens, I had a car which only wanted one minor detail to make it complete. I have known for months, that if I could supply that detail, I should be in possession of a car which would outpace even the Pirate's. For months I've racked my brains over it. A week ago an idea occurred to me. I worked it out. I tried it for the first time last night. It has proved to be a success. The day after to-morrow I shall join in the pursuit of the Motor Pirate, so if your Scotland Yard friend does not make haste, he will be too late."

"What power do you propose to use?" I asked. "Petrol?"

He laughed before replying. "A month ago I would have told nobody; but to-day there is no need of secrecy; my drawings are all ready for deposit at the Patent Office, so there is no chance of any one forestalling me."

"Well, what is it?" I said.

"I don't want you to tell anybody else just yet," he said; and as I nodded my acquiescence, he continued, "My new motor is on an entirely novel principle. It is a turbine engine, worked by the expansion of liquid hydrogen."

"What?" I gasped. The idea was so novel that I could not grasp it. He lifted his hand, checking the questions which started to my lips.

"No. No questions, if you please: because, if you ask any, I shall not answer them. Meanwhile, you have not yet told me how you learned of my presence here?"

I related how, in the course of my inquiries at Chelmsford, I had ascertained that a person so like himself had passed through the town, that I had determined to attempt to overtake him, little thinking the chase would prove so stern.

He chaffingly congratulated me on my tracking powers, and expressed regret that I had not made my appearance earlier, so that we might have arranged a race; and by the time we had finished lunch, I was as completely convinced as I had ever been of anything in my life, that he had no connection whatsoever with the Pirate. Still, I was none the less determined to tackle him upon the subject of the influence which Evie declared he exerted over her, so when the meal was over, we left the hotel together and, seeing from the front that the pier was practically deserted, I led the way to the far end, determined to have a complete explanation.

He was silent during our walk. So was I, for I was deliberating how best to introduce the subject. As it happened, he made the task easy for me, as after finding a comfortable seat and lighting a cigarette, he turned to me with—

"Now, old fellow, what is it you have on your mind? Out with it!"

I told him—told him fully and frankly everything that Evie had mentioned to me concerning him, and I finished by warning him that I was determined to exercise the right she had given me to protect her. He listened to me attentively and, one might have thought, even sympathetically. When I had concluded, he sat silent awhile; then, looking me full in the eyes, he remarked—

"I suppose, Sutgrove, if I tell you that this story of the influence I am supposed to exercise over Miss Maitland is absolute news to me, you will not believe me?"

I was staggered, and my astonishment must have been visible in my face, for he continued—

"You may be surprised, but not half so much as I have been, by what you have told me. Really, the whole story sounds the maddest farrago of nonsense I have ever heard."

I was about to make an angry retort, but he checked me with a gesture—

"I do not mean any offence," he said; "for I can quite understand what your feelings on the subject must be. I, no more than yourself, would tolerate any unwarrantable interference such as you describe. It is just as well that you should have mentioned the matter to me, however, for you will know so much better how to proceed."

"What do you mean?" I gasped.

"Why, what else than that you will not waste any time before obtaining medical advice for Miss Maitland," he replied.

I felt a grey horror creeping over me—a horror that tied my tongue, to think that Evie—my Evie—might prove to be—mad. Again, he must have divined my thoughts, for he said reassuringly—

"You must not take too serious a view of the case. Miss Maitland is of a highly nervous temperament, and, I should imagine, rather prone to hysteria." Then, rising, he clapped me on the shoulder, "Take a cheerful view, Sutgrove. I'll bet you ten to one that her doctor will inform you that marriage will provide a complete cure."

His tone was so hearty, so friendly, that I instinctively grasped his hand, and he returned my grip.

The subject was not resumed; and, as we walked back to the hotel, I was completely convinced that I had been an unutterable cad ever to allow a single doubt concerning him to enter my mind, much less to harbour there.

I left him at the hotel door and went in search of my car to continue my journey to Sutgrove Hall. He was still standing where I parted from him when I swept past, and he waved his hand to me, a smile upon his face.