gazed at the bulky engine. It was one of those very tall and
impressive rollers with a canopy over the top. The machinery was
not complicated, and the ingenuity of desperation spurred him on.
Hurriedly he opened the draughts in the fire-box, shook up the
coals, and saw the needle begin to quiver on the pressure-gauge.
He experimented with one or two levers and handles. The first one
he touched let off a loud scream from the whistle. Then he
discovered the throttle. He opened it a few notches, cautiously.
The ponderous machine, with a horrible clanking and grinding,
began to move forward.

A steam roller may seem the least helpful of all vehicles in
which to conduct an urgent flight; but Gissing's reasoning was
sound. In the first place, no one would expect to find a hunted
fugitive in this lumbering, sluggish behemoth of the road.
Secondly, sitting perched high up in the driving saddle, right
under the canopy, he was not easily seen by the casual passer-by.
And thirdly, if the pursuit came to close grips, he was still in
a strategic position. For this, the most versatile of all
land-machines except the military tank, can move across fields,
crash through underbrush, and travel in a hundred places that
would stall a motor car. He rumbled off down the road somewhat
exhilarated. He found the scarlet stole twisted round his neck,
and tied it to one of the stanchions of the canopy as a flag of
defiance. It was not long before he saw the posse of pursuit
returning along the road, very hot and angry. He crunched along
solemnly, busying himself to get up a strong head of steam. There
they were, the Bishop, Mr. Poodle, Mr. Airedale, Mr.
Dobermann-Pinscher, and Mr. Towser. Mr. Poodle was talking
excitedly: the Bishop's tongue ran in and out over his gleaming