“You're going home, Marty—after you've sent me a taxicab. If you were seen in that neighborhood now, let alone by any chance seen in the house, nothing could save you. You understand that, don't you? Now, listen! Find a taxi, and send it here. Tell the chauffeur to pick me up, and drive me to the corner of the cross street, one block in the rear of Mr. Hayden-Bond's residence. Don't mention Hayden-Bond's name. Give the chauffeur simply street directions. Be careful that he is some one who doesn't know you. Tell him he will be well paid—and give him this to begin with.” She thrust a banknote into the Sparrow's hand. “You're sure to find one at some all-night cabaret around here. And remember, when you go home afterward, not a word to your mother! And not a word to-morrow, or ever-to any one! You've simply done as you told your employer you were going to do—spent the night at home.”
“But you,” he burst out, and his words choked a little. “I—I can't let you go, and—”
“You said you would trust me, Marty,” she said. “And if you want to help me, as well, don't waste another moment. I shall need every second I have got. Quick! Hurry!”
“But—”
She pushed him toward the street.
“Run!” she said tensely. “Hurry, Marty, hurry!”
She drew back into the shadows. She was alone now. The Sparrow's racing footsteps died away on the pavement. Her mind reverted to the plan that she had dimly conceived. It became detailed, concrete now, as the minutes passed. And then she heard a car coming along the previously deserted street, and she stepped out on the sidewalk. It was the taxi.
“You know where to go, don't you?” she said to the chauffeur, as the cab drew up at the curb, and the man leaned out and opened the door.
“Yes'm,” he said.
“Please drive fast, then,” she said, as she stepped in.