“Do you remember?” asked the girl, in a low voice, pressing his arm. Then, “Don’t!” she whispered. “Someone will see!” for he had drawn her face to his.
They came to the corner of Chicago Avenue and Sheridan Road, where they had halted the night before in their search for the hidden papers. “We’d better give him further directions,” said the girl.
But the chauffeur turned north at the corner and put on more speed.
“He’s taking the right direction,” she laughed. “Perhaps his idea is to follow Sheridan Road till we tell him to turn.”
“I don’t quite like it,” said Orme, thoughtfully. “He’s a bit too sure of what he’s doing.”
The girl hesitated. “It is funny,” she exclaimed. “And he’s going faster, too.” She leaned forward and called up to the chauffeur: “Stop at this corner.”
He did not seem to hear. She repeated the order in a louder voice, but the only answer was another burst of speed.
Then Orme reached up and touched the chauffeur’s shoulder. “Stop the car!” he cried.
The chauffeur did not obey. He did not even turn his head.
Orme and the girl looked at each other. “I don’t understand,” she said.