There were still twenty miles to cover. But Dick Drummond was behind, quite an eighth of a lap. Carlier had apparently been husbanding all his strength and power. The car he was driving was certainly a splendid one, and was behaving magnificently. Would it beat the English make? As the last few laps were negotiated at a frightful speed the knots of onlookers became more and more enthusiastic. Some cheered Dick until they were hoarse, while others, with an interest in the car Carlier was driving, cried "Bravo! Bravo!" The blood ran quickly in the widow's veins. Ninety-five miles had been covered, and still Drummond was behind more than half a lap. She watched his crouching figure, with head set forward, his position never altering, his chin upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the track before him. Garrett seemed ever at work, touching this and that at the order of his master, whose face was wholly protected from the cutting wind by the ugly mask, save mouth and chin. As the board showed ninety-seven miles he came at a fearful pace past the spot where Mrs Edmondson had again risen from her seat in her excitement. He was spurting, and so valiantly did he struggle, getting every ounce out of the hundred horse-power of his car, that he slowly, very slowly, crept towards the flying Frenchman. "Keep on, Drummond!" shrieked the men, taking off their caps and waving them. "Don't be beaten, old man!" But he could not hear them above the terrible roar of his exhaust. No express train ever designed had run so quickly as he was now travelling. Official timekeepers were standing, chronometers in hand, calmly watching, and judges were making ready to declare the winner. Every spectator stood breathless. It was really marvellous that one hundred miles could have been covered in that brief space of time while they had been watching. Again, and yet again, the two cars flashed by, yet still Dick lagged behind. Suddenly, however, they came round for the last lap, and as they passed the watchful widow, the Englishman like a shot from a gun, passed his opponent and won by twenty yards. When he pulled up, after having run again round the course to slacken speed, he almost fell into the arms of the crowd of men who came up to congratulate him. Mrs Edmondson had left her post of vantage and stood near by. She overheard one of them--it was Mason--say: "By Jove, Dick! This is a wonderful run. You've broken the five, ten, and hundred mile records! The fortune of your car is made?" Then the victor turned to his opponent and shook his hand, saying in French: "Thank you, my dear Carlier, for a very excellent race." The widow, after a brief chat, returned to town by rail, while Garrett drove his master back to Dover Street. That night his Highness dined with the widow at the Langham, and she bestowed upon him fulsome praise regarding his prowess.