They came to the great Ocean Driveway.  Here were many automobiles, nearly all going one way, and nearly all racing.  There were two which stuck to Oliver and would not be left behind—­one, two, three —­one, two, three—­they passed and repassed.  Their dust was blinding, and the continual odour was sickening; and so Oliver set his lips tight, and the little dial on the indicator began to creep ahead, and they whirled away down the drive.  “Catch us this time!” he muttered.

A few seconds later Oliver gave a sudden exclamation, as a policeman, concealed behind a bush at the roadside, sprang out and hailed them.  The policeman had a motor-cycle, and Oliver shouted to the mechanic, “Pull the cord!” His brother turned, alarmed and perplexed, and saw the man reach down to the floor of the car.  He saw the policeman leap upon the cycle and start to follow.  Then he lost sight of him in the clouds of dust.

For perhaps five minutes they tore on, tense and silent, at a pace that Montague had never equalled in an express train.  Vehicles coming the other way would leap into sight, charging straight at them, it seemed, and shooting past a hand’s breadth away.  Montague had just about made up his mind that one such ride would last him for a lifetime, when he noticed that they were slacking up.  “You can let go the cord,” said Oliver.  “He’ll never catch us now.”

“What is the cord?” asked the other.

“It’s tied to the tag with our number on, in back.  It swings it up so it can’t be seen.”

They were turning off into a country road, and Montague sank back and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.  “Is that a common trick?” he asked.

“Quite,” said the other.  “Mrs. Robbie has a trough of mud in their garage, and her driver sprinkles the tag every time before she goes out.  You have to do something, you know, or you’d be taken up all the time.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“I’ve only been in court once,” said Oliver.  “I’ve been stopped a dozen times.”

“What did they do the other times—­warn you?”

“Warn me?” laughed Oliver.  “What they did was to get in with me and ride a block or two, out of sight of the crowd; and then I slipped them a ten-dollar bill and they got out.”

To which Montague responded, “Oh, I see!”

They turned into a broad macadamized road, and here were more autos, and more dust, and more racing.  Now and then they crossed a trolley or a railroad track, and here was always a warning sign; but Oliver must have had some occult way of knowing that the track was clear, for he never seemed to slow up.  Now and then they came to villages, and did reduce speed; but from the pace at which they went through, the villagers could not have suspected it.

And then came another adventure.  The road was in repair, and was very bad, and they were picking their way, when suddenly a young man who had been walking on a side path stepped out before them, and drew a red handkerchief from his pocket, and faced them, waving it.  Oliver muttered an oath.