Kirkwood looked back, craning his neck round the side of the cab. At themoment another hansom was breaking through the rank of humanity on theStrand crossing. He saw one or two figures leap desperately from beneaththe horse's hoofs. Then the cab shot out swiftly down the street.

The American stood up again, catching the cabby's eye.

"Drive on!" he cried excitedly. "Don't stop--drive as fast as you dare!"

"W'ere to, sir?"

"See that cab way behind? Don't let it catch us--shake it off, lose it somehow,but for the love of Heaven don't let it catch us! I'll make it worth yourwhile. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The driver looked briefly over his shoulder and lifted hiswhip. "Don't worry, sir," he cried, entering into the spirit of the gamewith gratifying zest. "Shan't let 'em over'aul you, sir. Mind your 'ead!"

And as Kirkwood ducked, the whip-lash shot out over the roof with a cracklike the report of a pistol. Startled, the mule leaped indignantlyforward. Momentarily the cab seemed to leave the ground, then settleddown to a pace that carried them round the Avenue Theatre and acrossNorthumberland Avenue into Whitehall Place apparently on a single wheel.

A glance behind showed Kirkwood that already they had gained, the pursuinghansom having lost ground through greater caution in crossing themain-traveled thoroughfare.

"Good little horse!" he applauded.

A moment later he was indorsing without reserve the generalship of theircabby; the quick westward turn that took them into Whitehall, over acrossfrom the Horse Guards, likewise placed them in a pocket of traffic; apractically impregnable press of vehicles closed in behind them ereCalendar's conveyance could follow out of the side street.

That the same conditions, but slightly modified, hemmed them in ahead, wentfor nothing in Kirkwood's estimation.

"Good driver!" he approved heartily. "He's got a head on his shoulders!"

The tiny child found her voice. "How," she demanded in a breath, face blank withconsternation, "how did you dare?"