Steps passed, and he emerged at the lower end, gained the main street by returning through another of the alleys by which, after the fashion of Yarmouth, the little town was scored. "Five minutes will take me there now," he panted; and, forcing himself to walk, he was hurrying on when a shout told him that his enemies were well upon the alert. With the horrible sense of being hunted, he clashed on, blindly now, reckless as to which way he went, so long as he reached the waterside. As he ran, he was about to strike down to the left where the landing-steps lay; and had he reached them there was a boat and men waiting, but the London detective had discovered that and was on the alert. Harry almost ran into his arms, but with a cry of rage he doubled back and ran for the shore, where he might set pursuit at defiance by hiding in the rocks below the cliff. But another man sprang up in his way, and in his despair he ran off to his left again, right along the great pier, towards the point. "We've got him now," shouted a voice behind as Harry rushed out, just conscious of a shriek as he brushed by a group of figures, hardly seen in the darkness. He heard, too, some confused words in which "boat" and "escape" seemed to be mingled. But in his excitement he could only think of those behind, as there came the patter of his pursuers' feet on the rough stones. There was a shrill whistle from the other side of the harbour, followed by a hail, and the splash of oars in the darkness, while a low "ahoy!" came from off the point. "Yes," muttered the officer between his teeth, "you're a nice party down here, but I've got my man." What followed was the work of moments. Harry ran on till the rugged nature of the point compelled him to walk, then step cautiously from rock to rock. The harbour was on one side, the tide rushing in on the other; before him the end of the point, with its deep water and eddying currents, which no swimmer could stem, and behind him the London officer with the local police close up. There was a boat, too, in the harbour, and the fugitive had heard the whistle and cries. He saw the light of the lugger out ahead, and to him, in his mad horror of capture, they meant enemies--enemies on every hand. And so he reached the extreme point, where, peering wildly about, like some hunted creature seeking a way of escape, he turned at bay. "There, sir, the game's up," cried the officer. "You've made a good fight of it, so now give in." "Keep back!" roared Harry hoarsely. And he stooped and felt about for a loose piece of rock where every scrap had been washed away. "Will you give in?" cried the officer. "Keep back!" cried Harry again, in a tone so fierce that for a moment the officer paused. There was another whistle from across the harbour, a shout and a hail out of the darkness, but nothing save the dim lantern light could be seen. "Now then, you two," said the officer decidedly, "back me up."