Part 8 (2/2)

In a moment Hubert had turned on the acetylene search-light, and gazed with straining eyes down the road behind him. Then he turned to his wife. ”'Tis Cutthroat giving us chase,” he said simply. ”Pa.s.s the cordite cartridges, please.”

Lady Clarabella grew deathly pale. ”I don't know where they are!” she gasped. ”I think--I think I must have left them on my dressing-table.”

”Then we are lost. Cutthroat is mounted on his bony Black Jet, which covers a mile a minute--and he is the most blood-thirsty ruffian on the road. Shut off steam, Clarabella! We can but yield.”

”Never!” cried his wife. ”Here, give me the lever; we are nearly at the top of this tremendously steep hill--we will foil him yet!”

Hubert was too much astonished to speak. By terrific efforts the gallant automobile arrived at the summit, when Clarabella applied the brake.

Then she gazed down the narrow road behind her. ”Take the starting-lever, Hubert,” she said, ”and do as I tell you.”

Ever louder sounded the clatter of their pursuer's machine; at last its head-light showed in the distance, as with greatly diminished speed it began to climb the hill.

”Now!” shrieked Clarabella. ”Full speed astern, Hubert! Let her go!”

The automobile went backwards down the hill like a flash of lightning.

Cutthroat had barely time to realise what was happening before it was upon him. Too late he tried to steer Black Jet out of the way. There was a yell, a sound of cras.h.i.+ng steel, a cloud of steam. When it cleared away, it revealed Hubert and Clarabella still seated on their machine, which was only slightly damaged, while Cutthroat and Black Jet were knocked into countless atoms!

Ill.u.s.tration: GREAT SELF-RESTRAINT.--_Lady in pony-cart_ (_who has made several unsuccessful attempts to pa.s.s persevering beginner occupying the whole road_). ”Unless you soon fall off, I'm afraid I shall miss my train!”

Ill.u.s.tration: ”These trailers are splendid things! You must really get one and take me out, Percy!”

Ill.u.s.tration: THE RIVAL FORCES.

(Scene--_Lonely Yorks.h.i.+re moor. Miles from anywhere._)

_Pa.s.sing Horse-dealer_ (_who has been asked for a tow by owners of broken-down motor-car_). ”Is it easy to pull?”

_Motorist._ ”Oh yes. Very light indeed!”

_Horse-dealer._ ”Then supposin' you pull it yourselves!”

[_Drives off._

Ill.u.s.tration:

_The Owner_ (_after five breakdowns and a spill_). ”Are y-you k-keen on r-riding home?”

_His Friend._ ”N-not very.”

<script>