“Shall we take my little car?” she asked, as Bill strode through the lobby, and Patty hurried to keep up with him.
“Good Heavens, no! We want a racer. I’ll drive it myself.”
By the power of sheer determination, the big Western man procured a fast car in an incredibly short time, and in a few moments he and Patty were flying up Broadway.
“Now if you want to talk you may,” said Bill, and his voice was quiet and composed, though he was alertly threading his swift way through the traffic. “I had to be a little short with you while we were hurrying off, because I didn’t want to lose a minute. But now, all I have to do is to keep just inside the speed limit while we’re in the city, and then I rather guess there’ll be one big chase!”
“Oh, Bill, you are just splendid!” exclaimed Patty, with shining eyes, unable to repress her admiration of his capability and strength.
“But we haven’t accomplished anything yet, Patty; we’re only starting out to try. You know, it’s a hundred to one shot that we miss them,—for we’ve very little idea where they’ve gone.”
“But it’s a straight road to Greenwich.”
“Yes, but they may have turned off anywhere. They may change their minds a dozen times about their destination.”
“No, they won’t,” said Patty, positively; “not unless they think they’re pursued, and of course they’ve no idea of that. Speed her up, Bill; the way is clear now! I don’t believe they’re going at this pace.”
“Patty, you’re a good pal! I don’t believe any other girl would be as plucky as you are in such a case.”