He took the bottle from Harry's pocket. He tilted back the head of the unconscious man and poured about half of the remaining contents down his throat. Some of the liquor spilled on Harry's coat. Steve Cronin chuckled.
"Details, Wally," he said. "Details always count. This makes it perfect. Drunk at the wheel. Stalled on the crossing. Empty bottles that smell of liquor."
He walked down the road, followed by Wally, in the glare of the headlights of the stranded car. Cronin had flashed the lights on when he had backed the car. He turned and looked along the road as he consulted his watch.
"In about seven minutes," he said, "this will be finished. That crossing was just made to suit me. Notice how it curves? The engineer won't know a thing about it until he is right on top of the car."
The whole idea now dawned on Wally.
"So that's why you looked up the time-tables!" he exclaimed. "Is it a fast train, Steve?"
"Fast enough to suit me. There's a station about a mile down the line, as near as I can figure it from the map. But it isn't even a flag stop for this train. It will come through here mighty fast."
As if in answer to Cronin's prediction, the men heard the distant whistle of a locomotive — a long, plaintive whistle that indicated a train moving at rapid speed.
"Climb aboard, Wally," exclaimed Steve Cronin as he jumped to the wheel of the sedan. "We're going straight ahead in a hurry. The rest will take care of itself."
The tail light of the sedan disappeared around a bend. All was silent at the crossing. There was another whistle of the locomotive through the night, but the unconscious man at the wheel of the touring car could not hear it.