Vaulting a railing he went away over a field like a madman. Recovering from the shock of surprise, I followed him, but he was well ahead of me, and making for some vaguely seen objects moving against the lights of the roadway. Another railing was vaulted, and the corner of a second, triangular grass patch crossed at a hot sprint. We were twenty yards from the road when the sound of a starting motor broke the silence. We gained the gravelled footpath only to see the tail-light of the car dwindling to the north! Smith leant dizzily against a tree. "Eltham is in that car!" he gasped. "Just God! are we to stand here and see him taken away to--?" He beat his fist upon the tree, in a sort of tragic despair. The nearest cab-rank was no great distance away, but, excluding the possibility of no cab being there, it might, for all practicable purposes, as well have been a mile off. The beat of the retreating motor was scarcely audible; the lights might but just be distinguished. Then, coming in an opposite direction, appeared the headlamp of another car, of a car that raced nearer and nearer to us, so that, within a few seconds of its first appearance, we found ourselves bathed in the beam of its headlights. Smith bounded out into the road, and stood, a weird silhouette, with upraised arms, fully in its course! The brakes were applied hurriedly. It was a big limousine, and its driver swerved perilously in avoiding Smith and nearly ran into me. But, the breathless moment past, the car was pulled up, head on to the railings; and a man in evening clothes was demanding excitedly what had happened. Smith, a hatless, dishevelled figure, stepped up to the door. "My name is Nayland Smith," he said rapidly--"Burmese Commissioner." He snatched a letter from his pocket and thrust it into the hands of the bewildered man. "Read that. It is signed by another Commissioner--the Commissioner of Police." With amazement written all over him, the other obeyed. "You see," continued my friend tersely, "it is _carte blanche_. I wish to commandeer your car, sir, on a matter of life and death!" The other returned the letter. "Allow me to offer it!" he said, descending. "My man will take your orders. I can finish my journey by cab. I am--" But Smith did not wait to learn whom he might be. "Quick!" he cried to the stupefied chauffeur. "You passed a car a minute ago--yonder. Can you overtake it?" "I can try, sir, if I don't lose her track." Smith leapt in, pulling me after him. "Do it!" he snapped. "There are no speed limits for me. Thanks! Good night, sir!" We were off! The car swung around and the chase commenced. One last glimpse I had of the man we had dispossessed, standing alone by the roadside, and at ever-increasing speed, we leapt away in the track of Eltham's captors. Smith was too highly excited for ordinary conversation, but he threw out short, staccato remarks.