On seeing the pseudonymous gardener speeding down the avenue, Gebb lost no time, but, leaving Mrs. Grix to her rage and lamentation, vaulted over the terrace in his turn, and raced at top speed after the fugitive. The detective was lean and young, and an excellent runner, whereas Dean, _alias_ Martin, was old and scant of breath; so the only thing which equalized the contest was the despair which winged the feet of the wretched quarry. If Dean were caught by the bloodhound of the law, he would be shortly relegated to the prison whence he had escaped; so he flew wildly over the ground, running he knew not whither to escape the fate which awaited him. And Gebb, who personified Nemesis, followed hot-footed in his track. The road to Norminster ran straight through the fields like a white ribbon laid upon green velvet, and the town itself was distant a mile from Kirkstone Hall. Down this, amid a cloud of white dust, Gebb saw Dean running some way ahead, and setting his elbows to his sides he followed steadily and surely, reserving his wind for the termination of the race, the result of which could only be the capture of the ragged figure now flying for dear life. Carters, and pedestrians, and labourers in the fields stared in amazement at the chase, and some, with that love of sport inherent in every breast, joined Gebb in his man-hunt. After Dean had covered a quarter of a mile he began to fail, and to zigzag in his course, bounding wildly from one side to the other, and wasting his strength in useless ways. Gebb with his shouting train drew steadily nearer, and the miserable, hunted wretch could hear their cries, and the beating of their feet on the hard white road. Still he endeavoured to shake off his pursuers and escape, for by a powerful effort he managed to run another quarter of a mile. Then age and fear and exhaustion told on his failing limbs, and with a wild cry Dean flung up his hands despairingly and fell amid puffs of dust. When Gebb arrived he was lying senseless in the middle of the highroad. "So!" said the detective to himself, as he knelt beside the ragged creature. "I've found you at last, Mr. Dean. You know the truth of all these matters, at any rate; and in some way or another I'll force you into confessing it." But at the present moment it seemed as though Dean would never speak again in this world, for he lay as still as any corpse, his white head and whiter face resting on Gebb's knee. The frowning mark between the eyes, by which the detective had known him, was smoothed away, and there was no expression on the blank countenance, no movement in the slack limbs. Gebb, however, knew that this apparent death was only a temporary faintness, and whipping out his brandy-flask, forced some drops of the fiery liquid between the white lips of his prisoner. While engaged in this kindly office, the labourers who had joined in the pursuit came up with much amazement expressed on their honest, sunburnt faces.