“I’m afraid I am beginning to,” Orme replied. “He will not stop until we are where he wishes us to be.”
“We can’t get out,” she exclaimed.
“No. And if I pull him out of the seat, the car will be ditched.” He puzzled vainly to hit on a method of action, and meantime the moments sped.
They passed the university grounds quickly. Orme retained an impression of occasional massive buildings at the right, including the dome of an observatory, and at the left the lighted windows of dwellings.
He saw, too, the tower of a lighthouse, a dark foundation supporting a changing light above; and then the road turned sharply to the left and, after a few hundred yards, curved again to the north.
Suddenly the chauffeur slowed down. On either side were groves of trees. Ahead were the lights of an approaching motor.
Orme was still at a loss, and the girl was awaiting some decision from him. When the chauffeur at last turned and spoke—three short words—Orme realized too late the situation he and the girl were in.
“We stop now,” said the chauffeur.
And the girl, with a horrified gasp, exclaimed: “Maku!”
Yes, it was the Japanese.