“We pursued a car which led us a pretty dance nearly as far as St. Albans.  It seems that Mr. Furneaux, looking out of the window of Mr. Theydon’s flat while Theydon and I were going downstairs, saw a Chinaman watching us from a closed car standing in the cross street at the end of the garden.  He gave chase instantly, but as soon as the man realized that he had attracted notice he tried to escape.  At least, that was Mr. Furneaux’s first impression.  Later, he convinced himself that the supposed spy was little more than a red herring drawn across the trail, and that the man’s real motive was to take me out of London, or waylay or detain me in some fashion, since it was manifestly impossible that my presence in the Mansions should be known to any one.  I see now, of course, what the project was.  If, as I gather from you, an attempt was to be made to capture my daughter on arriving at Eastbourne, it was all-important for the conspirators that I should not know of her absence from home until after the arrival of the train, so that I could not communicate with the hotel and take measures to protect her.  But that explanation was hidden from Mr. Furneaux, and the first glimpse of it vouchsafed to me was when I reached my office and was horrified to learn that she had gone away without my knowledge.  However, in a desperate matter like this, I must not waste time by describing my agony and foreboding.  As I have said, by some phenomenal method of reasoning beyond my comprehension, Mr. Furneaux did arrive at a sound conclusion.  I suppose he was alive to the ridiculous aimlessness of the race across country.  My car is powerful and speedy, but the Chinaman had a thoroughly up-to-date conveyance, too, and drove without paying the least heed to traffic conditions.”

“There was only one man, then?”

“Yes.  Didn’t I make that clear?  Perhaps not.  But there can hardly be any doubt that this fellow was alone, and acting as a sort of scout or vedette.  We had the utmost difficulty in following him along Oxford Street, and I am sure that my chauffeur has been reported by a score of constables on point duty for exceeding the speed limit and disregarding signals to halt.  To come to the material facts, the chase took us up the Edgware road.  We tore along at a tremendous rate after passing the Welsh Harp.  Overhaul the fellow we could not, until on the outskirts of St. Albans, when he deliberately slowed up, as though to allow us to pass.  Mr. Furneaux flew at him like a terrier grappling a rat, but the man made no resistance.  He is undoubtedly a Chinaman, though attired in a chauffeur’s livery, and he could handle a car in first-rate style, too.  His pidgin English was difficult to understand, and Mr. Furneaux shared my view that he did not try to render himself intelligible.  We gathered that he was obeying his master’s orders in trying the car, a new one, before purchase, but Furneaux bundled him off to the nearest police station, borrowed handcuffs and brought him back to