It was the deserted country roads which he feared, for if the man
ahead of him should suspect pursuit, a difficult problem might
arise.
By happy chance Nicol Brinn, an enthusiastic motorist, knew the
map of Surrey as few Englishmen knew it. Indeed, there was no
beauty spot within a forty-mile radius of London to which he
could not have driven by the best and shortest route, at a
moment's notice. This knowledge aided him now.
For presently at a fork in the road he saw that the driver of the
limousine had swung to the left, taking the low road, that to the
right offering a steep gradient. The high road was the direct
road to Lower Claybury, the low road a detour to the same.
Nicol Brinn mentally reviewed the intervening countryside, and
taking a gambler's chance, took the Rolls Royce up the hill. He
knew exactly what he was about, and he knew that the powerful
engine would eat up the slope with ease.
Its behaviour exceeded his expectations, and he found himself
mounting the acclivity at racing speed. At its highest point, the
road, skirting a hilltop, offered an extensive view of the valley
below. Here Nicol Brinn pulled up and, descending, watched and
listened.
In the stillness he could plainly hear the other automobile
humming steadily along the lowland road below. He concentrated
his mind upon the latter part of that strange journey, striving
to recall any details which had marked it immediately preceding
the time when he had detected the rustling of leaves and knew
that they had entered a carriage drive.
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