"What does it mean?" muttered the detective, clutching at the shoulder of the chauffeur to support himself. "It must be Séverac Bablon! But--where's Mr. Belford?"
Three minutes passed, and the brilliant moonlight set at rest all doubts respecting the identity of the man who drove the car.
His silvern hair flowed out, gleaming on his shoulders, as he bent forward over the driving-wheel.
"What in the name of murder does it mean?" cried Sheffield. "Has he gone mad? Mr. Belford! Mr. Belford! Hoy! ... _Hoy! ... hoy! Mr. Belford!_"
But although he must have heard the cry, Mr. Belford, immovable at the wheel, drove madly ahead!
"What shall I do?" asked the chauffeur in an awed voice.
"Do?" rapped Sheffield savagely. "Pass him and block the road! He's stark, raving mad!"
So, along that white road, under the placid moon, was enacted the strangest incident of this entirely bizarre adventure; for Mr. Belford, in the hired motor, was pursued and overtaken by his own car, which passed him, forged ahead, turned across the road, and blocked it.
For one moment the Home Secretary, racing down upon them, seemed to contemplate leaving the path for the grassland, and thus proceeding on his way; but the chauffeur ran out to meet him, holding up his arms and crying:
Mr. Belford stopped the car and fixed his eyes upon the man with a look of real amazement.
"Who else?" rapped the inspector irritably. "What on earth are you doing, sir? Where's the quarry--where's Séverac Bablon?"
"What!" cried the Home Secretary, from the step of the car. "You have lost him?"
"Lost him!" repeated Sheffield ironically. "I never had him!"
"But," said Mr. Belford distinctly, and in his question-answering voice, "did you not return to where I was stationed and inform me that you had them all locked in an upper room? Did I not, myself, hear their attempt to break down the door? And did you not report that, their numbers being considerable, you could not, single-handed, hope to arrest them?"
"Go on!" said Sheffield, in a tired voice. "What else did I tell you?"
"You see," resumed the politician triumphantly, "this _impasse_ is due to no irregularity in my own conduct! You told me that my limousine had mysteriously been tampered with, and that the only course was for you and Jenkins to remain and endeavour to prevent the prisoners from escaping, whilst I, in their car, returned to Womsley Old Place for your men! Hearing you behind me, I naturally assumed that the prisoners had overpowered you and were in pursuit of me!"