"Now get into the driver's seat and take the wheel. You can drive. I know it. I've seen you drive up in Exeter, you know." She smiled a little at the bewildered glance he cast on her for a moment, then resumed her orders. "Drive to Hopewell! And remember what I said about this gun."
Dollings drove the car into Hopewell with Dixie Mason holding the revolver. Circling through the fire devastated city they reached the group of cheering men just as the ditch had been blown up that saved the guncotton plant.
Above the roar of the men Harrison Grant heard a shrill little voice that made his heart backfire for an instant.
"Oh, Harrison Grant!" He turned and looked up into the glad eyes of Dixie Mason. "See what I've brought you," she said, pointing at the cringing figure of the now completely cowed Dollings. She was standing on the running board of the car.
Grant walked up to the car with a smile at Dixie. Dollings drew back with a snarl of hatred as Grant touched him on the shoulder.
"Seems to me you and I have met before," said the president of the Criminology Club, "But I can't just place you."
"Don't you remember?" Dixie laughed, leaning toward him. "It's Dollings, our good-natured undertaker from Exeter. He dealt in caskets up there you know, but the boxes they came in held guns instead of coffins. A very nice man if he had stuck to his trade, but changing it got him into trouble. You'd better search him."
Dollings helpless, cowed, beaten, was beyond resistance. Their careful search revealed that, after all, the destruction of Hopewell was but an item compared with the general plan of which Dollings was an agent. With an exclamation, Grant turned over a paper to Dixie Mason, to read.
"Here Dixie, this is your case, and here's a little lexicon of destruction that may be helpful to you."
Dixie took the paper and studied it, horror whitening her face. On it was written: