"You know this road?" questioned Stuart.
"Yeah," the man answered. "It's a good road, but it isn't on the map. Lot of them like that, down here in Maryland. They told me all about it, back in the last town. When we get a few miles farther on, I'll show you a short cut."
They drove along in silence for a few minutes; then the man at Stuart's side began a brief and disjointed explanation of his circumstances.
His name, it appeared, was Jefferson — he did not mention his surname. He had gone broke in a town outside of Baltimore and had decided to foot it for New York.
The man said nothing of his business; merely mentioned that he had friends in Manhattan, and was anxious to get there. Stuart asked no questions, so the man's talk ended. The fury of the storm had increased. The road, although narrow, was well paved, and Stuart handled the car in expert fashion. They were traveling nearly forty miles an hour — a high speed under the conditions. Stuart's eyes were glued to the road. He wanted to make Herkimer, where he could cut over to a main road, and reach Philadelphia within a few hours. The companionship of the hitch-hiker was not disagreeable, so he intended to take the man all the way.
"Must be pretty near there, now," the stranger remarked. "The road splits, and you can save five miles if you stick to the right. We'll see a detour sign, but it won't mean anything."
"How's that?" questioned Stuart.
"They're starting some repair work," explained Jefferson, "so they've closed the road.
Going to take down two bridges and put up new ones. But they aren't beginning until next Monday — even though they've had the signs up for a couple of days."
"You're positive about that?" Stuart parried.