The chauffeur, knowing the only regular time-killing drive in the city, hit out for Central Park. Gresham was incapable of thought or action. As they crossed Forty-second Street Johnny touched his driver on the shoulder, and that handy criminal came to an immediate halt at the curb. Johnny opened the door. Gresham moved. Loring quickly clutched him by the knee. The chauffeur looked back.
"Leave it to me," he suggested in most friendly tones. "You don't need to change taxis."
"I'd feel more like a real sport if I hired two," Johnny argued, studying his man intently.
"I've got two numbers and I'll switch 'em," offered the assistant brigand.
"I think the police must know you by name," commented Johnny, "but I'll take a chance," and giving Polly's address he climbed back.
"Shall we hide the bonds?" whispered Polly as she prepared to alight at the Parsons home.
"Certainly not," replied Johnny. "I have to get them signed," and he pressed the hand of Constance with proper warmth as he helped her out.
Gresham made an attempt at that point to prove himself a man, but Loring restrained him from that absurd idea with one hand while he raised his hat with the other.
"Where next?" asked the driver huskily.
"The finest place for a kidnapping is Forty-second and Broadway," answered Johnny with his mind made up.