“If you see a man and a girl walking,” he said, “slow down, but not too much. We don’t want to give him the alarm too soon, you know.”

“That him, sir?” asked the driver, pointing to a steep hill ahead of them. Near its summit could be seen two human figures, easily recognisable, even at this distance, as a man and a girl.

“I believe it is,” answered Shelley. He was quivering with excitement now, for he felt that the end of the long chase was at hand, and his excitement was in some subtle way communicated to the others.

Slowly they drew near to the two people ahead, and they realised that they were those whom they had been chasing. Suddenly, however, the man glanced over his shoulder, a look of anxiety and fear overspread his face, and he broke into a kind of shambling trot, the girl’s arm tightly clasped in his hand.

“Drop that girl’s arm, Wallace,” Shelley shouted as they came within hearing distance. “We’ve got you!”

The man looked around once more, and then, dropping Violet’s arm, he raced to the side of the road, vaulted the low stone hedge which separated it from the moorland, wild and dreary, and hurried up the steep slope of the hill.

Shelley opened the door of the car. “Look after the girl, Cunningham,” he said. “I’m going after him.” He took his automatic from his pocket, and vaulted the hedge in his turn.

But Wallace had got a considerable start on him, and the slope was steep. When Shelley reached the summit of the first little hill, Wallace was nowhere to be seen. Cautiously, the detective put his head around a large rock mass, only to draw it backwards quickly as a bullet whizzed by, unpleasantly near his ear.

“Ah-ha!” An insane, cackling laugh rang out. “You’ll never catch me, Mr. Detective.”

“Wallace,” Shelley said sternly. “You know that you’re beaten. You know that you’ll never get out of these hills alive. Better give yourself up, my man.”

The answer was another bullet and another laugh. “So I shan’t get out of these hills alive, eh?” came the question, uncannily sounding from a man who was still hidden securely behind another rock, not far from the edge of what appeared to Shelley to be a steep, precipitous drop, the reservoir’s still depths being far below the level at which they had arrived.

“Well,” the owner of the voice went on, “if I don’t get out alive, neither shall you, my fine fellow.”

“What’s the use,” asked Shelley, gripping his automatic tightly, and wondering if there was some way in cutting off his adversary’s retreat, “of trying to kill me? It won’t make things any better for you. You’ve killed two men already.”