“Oh, is it you, Miss Ainsworth?” And the officer smiled. “I did not recognize you. That is all right. Your car is a Rolls, isn’t it? We are looking for a man in a Rolls—but I can hardly hold you.” He turned his pocket flash upon Amos Hiltze.
“This is my friend, Mr. Hiltze,” she explained. “I think you do not want him, either.”
“No, I think not. Yet our man is supposed to have come this way. If you see any men on foot, or any one in trouble, better not stop. We’ll have a man out that way pretty soon.”
“Thank you,” said Eveley. “Good night.” And again they were on their way.
“Poor Mr. Man in the Rolls,” she said after a while. “I wonder what mischief he has been into.”
“I wonder.”
“I hope he gets away. Perhaps he is not so bad as they think, and may do better next time. Or maybe he had a reason.”
“I am sure of that,” said Hiltze with some earnestness. “There is always a reason, I think.”
Through La Mesa, through El Cajon, they drove in silence as they had driven once before, when they went for Marie the first time. Only then Eveley had been quivering with anxiety and nervousness—and now it was only hope and joy. But was it only hope and joy? For she realized suddenly that her hands were gripping the wheel with nervous intensity, and that she was shivering.
“Are you cold?”