“We’re catching up a little though, aren’t we?” asked Betty anxiously.
“We certainly are,” Dick assured her, “but I’m afraid it’s no ten minute job we’ve tackled. I didn’t know he was such a reckless driver. I’m sorry I got you out here on false pretences, Miss Wales. Will Mrs. Hildreth worry?”
“Not unless I’m awfully late,” said Betty cheerfully. “And, anyway, we can’t help it now. I certainly can’t walk back and you can’t take me back; you’d surely lose Mr. Morton if you did that.”
“Exactly.” Mr. Blake’s eyes were on the white road ahead, and he spoke in jerky sentences, keeping time to the throb of the machine. “I should lose the trail, and the last chance of making good on this assignment. Time’s up to-morrow, you know. When I met you I was blue as indigo—saw myself sailing back to New York with my reputation for being the best sleuth in town knocked to splinters. So Mrs. Hildreth and Bob Enderby will both have to bear up as best they can.”
“It’s queer how I’ve happened on Mr. Morton twice just in time to accommodate you,” laughed Betty.
“Mighty lucky for me,” said Richard briefly. “You’re cold, Miss Wales. Reach under the seat and you’ll find something in the way of a wrap.”
Betty reached, and drew out a leather coat. “How stunning!” she said, pulling it around her shoulders. “Is it yours or Mr. Enderby’s?”
“It’s Bob’s.” He turned to look. “I say, that’s a new one on me. Bob’s blossoming out in awfully swell togs all of a sudden. He’s been sporting an old corduroy coat that his wife wouldn’t have in the studio.”
“Mr. Blake, the other car has stopped!” cried Betty eagerly.
“It has, for sure. You certainly do bring luck, Miss Wales! Now here goes for one last desperate spurt.”