“I don’t know either of them guys,” the chauffeur insisted.
“Who hired you to waylay Flash and me if it wasn’t Rascomb?” demanded Doyle. “He recommended you as a driver.”
The chauffeur glared at his three questioners, refusing to speak.
“You know what a charge of kidnapping means in this state,” reminded the Major. “A life sentence.”
An expression of fear came over the chauffeur’s face. He began to tremble.
“Now if you come clean—tell us everything you know—you may get off with a lighter sentence,” the Major went on. “But if Rascomb makes good his escape, you’ll be the one to take the rap.”
“This is the first job I’ve ever done for him,” the chauffeur whined. “My orders were to let you all escape in the morning.”
“What became of the papers stolen from me?” Major Hartgrove asked.
“Rascomb has them.”
“And where is he now?”