He fancied that his mysterious deliverer was safely in the car; that he was carrying the man with him.
The limousine shot in between the gates of Thaddeus Westcott’s estate.
Craig did not pause until he had reached the door of the garage. Then he turned and looked into the back seat.
It was empty! The dome light of the car revealed only the marks of bullets. There was no sign of the unknown passenger.
Craig wondered what had become of the man, and the thought made him uncomfortable. Had he abandoned his rescuer to the thugs, back on the road?
Craig could only ease his mind with the recollection that he had followed orders. It would be folly, now, to return to that scene.
BACK on the road through the woods, a group of crippled men were entering their car. Two of them were badly shot. All but one had suffered wounds.
The unscathed man growled as he stood beside the car, throwing the rays of a searchlight in all directions.
“Got away, all right,” he mumbled, between clenched teeth. “Got away in the car, with the chauffeur! There’s no use waiting around here any longer. Come on, gang, we’re moving before some of these hick cops show up!”
He climbed into the car and took the wheel. The searchlight was off now; but the glare of the headlights threw a long range of whiteness down the road.