In an angle of the wood the dust-covered policeman and the white-capped man came upon the racer, turned a little from the road, and waiting their arrival. It had a stolid¹, helpless look—with its nose buried deep in underbrush and the hind² wheels tilted³ a little in air. Once might almost fancy it gave a little, subdued⁴ hiccough, as they approached.  
The white-capped man bent⁵ above it and ran a quick hand along the side, and leaped to the vacant seat. The beast beneath gave a little snort and withdrew its nose and pranced⁶ playfully at the underbrush and backed away, feeling for firm ground behind. The man at the wheel pressed hard, leaning—with quick jerk—and wheels gripped ground and trundled in the road. It stopped beside the service car and the two men gazed doubtfully at the wood. Dusty leaves trembled at them in the light air, and beckoned⁷ to them—little twigs⁸ laced across and shut them out. Anywhere in the dark coolness of the wood, the Greek lurked⁹, hiding away. They could not trace him—and the wood reached far into the dusk. He was undoubtedly¹⁰ armed. Only a desperate man would have made a dash like that—for life. Better go back to town for reinforcements and send the word of his escape along the line. He would not get far—on foot! They gave another glance at the wood and loosed their cars to the road, gliding¹¹ smoothly¹² off. The wood behind them, under its cover of dust, gave no sign of watching eyes; and the sun, travelling toward the west, cast their long, clean shadows ahead as they went. In the low light, the little, white house in the distance had a rosy¹³, moody¹⁴ look. As they drew nearer, little pink details flashed out. An old man behind the picket¹⁵ fence looked up, and straightened himself, and gazed—under a shading hand. Then he came along the driveway and stood in the white gate, waiting their approach. He had a red, guileless face and white hair. The face held a look of childish interest as they drew up. “You got him?” he asked.
 
The service man shook his head, jerking his thumb at the racer that came behind. “Got the car,” he said. “He got off—took to the woods.”
 
“That so?” The old man came out to the road and looked with curious eyes at the big racing-machine coming up. “What’d he do?” he asked.
 
“He stole my machine,” said the white-capped man quickly. He was holding the wheel with a careful touch.
 
The old man looked at him with shrewd, smiling eyes—chewing at some invisible cud. The service man nodded to him, “There’ll be a reward out for him, Jimmie—keep a watch out. You may have a chance at it. He’s hiding somewhere over there.” He motioned toward the distant wood.
 
The old man turned a slow eye toward the west. “I don’t own no telescope,” he said quaintly¹⁶. He shifted ............