With a cautious glance at her keepers she took up the book as if to read, and opening it at the flyleaf began to write surreptitiously much the same message that had been on her last postal, signing her name and home address and giving her employers' address. Her heart was beating wildly when she had finished. She was trying to think just how she should use this last bit of ammunition to the best advantage. Should she just drop it in the road quietly? If only there were some way to fasten the pages open so her message would be read! Her handkerchief! Of course! She folded it cornerwise and slipped it in across the pages so that the book would fall open at the fly leaf, knotting the ends on the back of the cover. Every moment had to be cautious, and she must remember to keep her attitude of reading with the printed pages covering the handkerchief. It seemed hours that it took her, her fingers trembled so. If it had not been for the rushing noise of wind and car she would not have dared so much undiscovered, but apparently her captors were satisfied that she still believed their story about going to Secretary Baker's country house, for they seemed mainly occupied in watching to see if they were pursued, casting anxious glances back now and then, but scarcely noticing her at all.
Shirley had noticed two or three times when a car had passed them that the men both leaned down to do something at their feet to the machinery of the car. Were they afraid of being recognized? Would this perhaps give her a chance to fling her book out where it would be seen by people in an oncoming car? Oh, if she but had the strength and skill to fling it into a car. But of course that was impossible without attracting the attention of the two men. Nevertheless, she must try what she could do.
She lifted her eyes to the road ahead and lo, a big car was bearing down upon them! She had almost despaired of meeting any more, for the road was growing more and more lonely and they must have come many miles. As soon as the two men in front of her sighted the car, they seemed to settle in their seats and draw their hats down a little farther over their eyes. The same trouble seemed to develop with the machinery at their feet that Shirley had noticed before, and they bobbed and ducked and seemed to be wholly engrossed with their own affairs.
Shirley's heart was beating so fast that it seemed as though it would suffocate her, and her hand seemed powerless as it lay innocently holding the closed book with the knotted handkerchief turned down out of sight; but she was girding herself, nerving herself for one great last effort, and praying to be guided.
The big car came on swiftly and was about to pass, when Shirley half rose and hurled her book straight at it and then sank back in her seat with a fearful terror upon her, closing her eyes for one brief second, not daring to watch the results of her act,—if there were to be any results.
The men in the front seat suddenly straightened up and looked around.
"What's the matter?" growled the man who had got in last in quite a different tone from any he had used before. "What you tryin' to put over on us?"
Shirley gasped and caught at her self-control.
"I've dropped my book," she stammered out wildly, "Could you stop long enough to pick it up? It was borrowed!" she ended sweetly as if by inspiration, and wondering at the steadiness of her tone when blood was pounding so in her throat and ears, and everything was black before her. Perhaps—oh, perhaps they would stop and she could cry out to the people for help.
The man rose up in his seat and looked back. Shirley cast one frightened glance back, too, and saw in that brief second that the other car had stopped and someone was standing up and looking back.