eed slackened.

He got off shaking, and looked behind him. He had reached the east end
of the promenade. It lay, as it always lies towards five o'clock,
absolutely deserted by visitors. In the distance and just stepped out of
a newspaper kiosk a woman was standing, shading her eyes and looking
towards him. Two boatmen near her were looking in the same direction.
They did not seem excited, just mildly interested.

At that moment appeared on the long slope leading down to the esplanade
the figure of a man running. He looked like a policeman--a sea-side
policeman.

Jones did not pause to verify. He propped the bicycle against the rails
of a verandahed house and ran.

The esplanade at this, the eastern end, ascends to the town by a zig-zag
road. As he took this ascent the mind of Jones, far from being clouded
or dulled, was acutely active. It saw that now the railway station of
Northbourne was out of count, flight by train was impossible, for the
station was the very first place that would be watched. The coast line,
to judge by present results, was impossible, for it seemed that to keep
to it he might go on for ever being chased till he reached John o'
Groats.

Northbourne is the twin image of Sandbourne-on-Sea, the same long high
street, the same shops with blinds selling the same wares, the same
trippers, children with spades, and invalids.

The two towns are rivals, each claiming the biggest brass band, the
longest esplanade, the fewer deaths from drowning, the best drains, the
most sunlight, and the swiftest trains from London. Needless to say that
one of them is not speaking the truth, a fact that does not seem to
disturb either of them in the least.

Jones, walking swiftly, passed a sea-side boot shop, a butcher's,
greengrocer's, and Italian warehouse--the same, to judge by the name
over the door--that had sent forth the messenger boy on the bicycle.
Then came a cinema palace, with huge pictures splashed across with
yellow bands announcing:

"TO-NIGHT"

Then a milliner's, then a post office, and lastly a livery stable.

In front of the latter stood a char-a-banc nearly full. A blackboard
announced in white chalk: "Two hours drive two shillings," and the
congregation in the char-a-banc had that stamp. Stout women, children, a
weedy man or two, and a honeymoon couple.

Jones, without the slightest hesitation, climbed into the char-a-banc.
It seemed sent by Heaven. It was a sea