["It is said that the perpetrators of a recent burglary got clear
away with their booty by the help of an automobile. At this rate we
may expect to be attacked, ere long, by automobilist
highwaymen."--_Paris Correspondent of Daily Paper._]
It was midnight. The wind howled drearily over the lonely heath; the
moon shone fitfully through the driving clouds. By its gleam an observer
might have noted a solitary automobile painfully jolting along the rough
road that lay across the common. Its speed, as carefully noted by an
intelligent constable half-an-hour earlier, was 41.275 miles an hour. To
the ordinary observer it would appear somewhat less. Two figures might
have been descried on the machine; the one the gallant Hubert de
Fitztompkyns, the other Lady Clarabella, his young and lovely bride.
Clarabella shivered, and drew her sables more closely around her.
"I am frightened," she murmured. "It is so dark and cold, Hubert, and
this is a well-known place for highwaymen! Suppose we should be
attacked?"
"Pooh!" replied her husband, deftly manipulating the oil-can. "Who
should attack us when 'tis common talk that you pawned your diamonds a
month ago? Besides, we have a swivel-mounted Maxim on our machine. Ill
would it fare with the rogue who--Heavens! what was that?"
From the far distance sounded a weird, unearthly noise, growing clearer
and louder even as Hubert and his wife listened. It was the whistle of
another automobile!
In a moment Hubert had turned on the acetylene search-light, and gazed
with straining eyes down the road behind him. Then he turned to his
wife. "'Tis Cutthroat giving us chase," he said simply. "Pass the
cordite cartridges, please."
Lady Clarabella grew deathly pale. "I don't know where they are!" she
gasped. "I think--I think I must have left them on my dressing-table."
"Then we are lost. Cutthroat is mounted on his bony Black Jet, which
covers a mile a minute--and he is the most blood-thirsty ruffian on the
road. Shut off steam, Clarabella! We can but yield."
"Never!" cried his wife. "Here, give me the lever; we are nearly at
the top of this tremendously steep hill--we will foil him yet!"
Hubert was too much astonished to speak. By terrific efforts the gallant
automobile arrived at the summit, when Clarabella applied the brake.
Then she gazed down the narrow road behind her. "Take the
starting-lever, Hubert," she said, "and do as I tell you."
Ever louder sounded the clatter of their pursuer's machine; at last its
head-light showed in the distance, as with greatly diminished speed it
began to climb the hill.
"Now!" shrieked Clarabella. "Full speed astern, Hubert! Let her go!"
The automobile went backwards down the hill like a flash of lightning.
Cutthroat had barely time to realise what was happening before it was
upon him. Too late he tried to steer Black Jet out of the way. There was
a yell, a sound of crashing steel, a cloud of steam. When it cleared
away, it revealed Hubert and Clarabella still seated on their machine,
which was only slightly damaged, while Cutthroat and Black Jet were
knocked into countless atoms!
* * * * *
Illustration: GREAT SELF-RESTRAINT.--_Lady in pony-cart_ (_who has
made several unsuccessful attempts to pass persevering beginner
occupying the whole road_). "Unless you soon fall off, I'm afraid I
shall miss my train!"
* * * * *
Illustration: "These trailers are splendid things! You must really get
one and take me out, Percy!"
* * * * *
Illustration: THE RIVAL FORCES.
(Scene--_Lonely Yorkshire moor. Miles from anywhere._)
_Passing Horse-dealer_ (_who has been asked for a tow by owners of
broken-down motor-car_). "Is it easy to pull?"
_Motorist._ "Oh yes. Very light indeed!"
_Horse-dealer._ "Then supposin' you pull it yourselves!"
[_Drives off._
* * * * *
Illustration:
_The Owner_ (_after five breakdowns and a spill_). "Are y-you k-keen on
r-riding home?"
_His Friend._ "N-not very."
_The Owner._ "L-let's l-leave it a-and _walk_, s-shall we?"
* * * * *