ing a swift glance behind,
over his shoulder, at the great service car that leaped and gained on
him lap by lap. It would overtake him soon--and he _must_ not pass the
car ahead--not till he saw what they were up to. Would they pass that
little white house--on the plain--or would they turn in there? The
wind hummed in his ears--his hair flew--and his hand held tense to
the wheel--slowing it cautiously, inch by inch--slackening a
little--slackening again with quick-flung, flashing glance behind--and a
watchful eye on the road ahead... and on the little white house drawing
near on the plain. It was a race now between his quick mind and that
car ahead and the little white house. He must not overtake them till the
little house was reached. The car behind must not touch him--not till
the house came up. There was a wood ahead, in the distance--his mind
flew and circled the wood--and came back. They had reached the little
house asleep in the sun. They were passing it, neck and neck, and the
car beside him swerved a little and slackened speed--and dived in at the
white gate. Achilles shot past--the free road ahead. The machine under
him gathered speed and opened out and laughed and leaped to the road and
lay down in the thick dust, spreading itself ahead. He could gain the
wood. He should escape--and the clue was fast.

Behind him, the service car thundered by the little house asleep. But
the police did not glance that way--nor did the big, white-capped man
glance that way. _His_ eyes were fixed on the racer ahead--dwindling to
a speck in its cloud of dust. He pushed up his visor and laughed aloud.
"Give it up!" he said genially, "give it up!--you can't catch _that_
car!--I know my own car, I guess!" He laughed again. "We shall find it
somewhere along the road--when he is through with it!"

But the face beside him, turning in the clouding dust, had a keen look
and the car kept its unbroken speed, and the plain flashed by. "He's in
too big a hurry--" said the driver sternly. "I want a look at that man!
He knows too much."

Too much! The heart of Achilles sang again--all the heart of him woke
up and laughed to the miles. He had found his clue--he had passed the
little hundred-thousand-dollar house, and the police in their big,
bungling dust had passed it, too. Nobody knew--but him... and he should
escape--over the long road... with the big machine, under him, pounding
away.

XXVII

THE LITTLE WHITE HOUSE

In an an