"I'm afraid, sir," said the sergeant with restraint, "I'm afraid I don't
quite follow you."

"I mean, why don't the French police take this up if it's got to be
taken up? I always heard that they were spry enough in their own way."

"Well, sir," said the sergeant reflectively, "you see, sir, the French
police don't take this up--well, because you see, sir, this ain't
France. This is His Majesty's dominions, same as 'Ampstead 'eath."

"Not France?" repeated Turnbull, with a sort of dull incredulity.

"No, sir," said the sergeant; "though most of the people talk French.
This is the island called St. Loup, sir, an island in the Channel.
We've been sent down specially from London, as you were such specially
distinguished criminals, if you'll allow me to say so. Which reminds
me to warn you that anything you say may be used against you at your
trial."

"Quite so," said Turnbull, and lurched suddenly against the sergeant,
so as to tip him over the edge of the road with a crash into the shingle
below. Then leaving MacIan and the policemen equally and instantaneously
nailed to the road, he ran a little way along it, leapt off on to a part
of the beach, which he had found in his journey to be firmer, and
went across it with a clatter of pebbles. His sudden calculation was
successful; the police, unacquainted with the various levels of
the loose beach, tried to overtake him by the shorter cut and found
themselves, being heavy men, almost up to their knees in shoals of
slippery shingle. Two who had been slower with their bodies were quicker
with their minds, and seeing Turnbull's trick, ran along the edge of the
road after him. Then MacIan finally awoke, and leaving half his
sleeve in the grip of the only man who tried to hold him, took the two
policemen in the small of their backs with the impetus of a cannon-ball
and, sending them also flat among the stones, went tearing after his
twin defier of the law.

As they were both good runners, the start they had gained was decisive.
They dropped over a high breakwater farther on upon the beach, turned
sharply, and scrambled up a line of ribbed rocks, crowned with a
thicket, crawled through it, scratching their hands and faces, and
dropped into another road; and there found that they could slacken their
speed into a steady trot. In all this desperate dart and scramble,
they still kept hold of their drawn swords, which now, indeed, in the
vigorous phrase of Bunyan, seemed almost t