When the car drew up before the door of Lorna's home, from which she had departed in such blithe spirits, Bob's heart was thumping almost guiltily. He felt in some ridiculous way as though he were almost responsible for her plight himself. Perhaps he had done wrong to wait so long. Yet, even his quick eyesight had failed to discover the knockout drops or powder which the wily Shepard had slipped into that disastrous glass of beer. Maybe his interference would have saved her from this unconscious stupor, indeed, he felt morally certain that it would; but Bob knew in his heart that the clever tricksters would have turned the tables on him effectively, and undoubtedly in the end would have won their point by eluding him and escaping with the girl. It was better that their operations should be thwarted in a manner which would prevent them from knowing how sharply they were watched. Bob knew that these men were to be looked after in the future.
He cast aside his thoughts to substitute action.
"Here's your number, mister," said the chauffeur, who opened the door. "Can I help you with the lady?"
"Thank you, no. What's the charge?"
The driver twisted the lamp around to show the meter, and Burke paid him a good tip over the price of the ride.
"Shall I wait for you?" asked the driver.
"No; that's all. I'll walk to the subway as soon as my friend gets in. Good night."
The chauffeur lingered a bit as Bob took the girl in his arms. The officer understood the suggestion of his hesitation.
"I said good night!" he spoke curtly.
The taxi man understood this time; there was no mistaking the firmness of the hint, and he started his machine away.