Gramont's worst suspicions were confirmed by the attitude of Hearne, who plainly considered that the entire gang had nothing to fear from the law. Chacherre's boasts were backed up solidly. It was obvious to Gramont that the ramifications of the gang extended very high up indeed.
"Better cut out the talk," he said, curtly, "until we get out of here."
Hearne nodded and rolled a cigarette.
When his hasty meal was finished Gramont paid at the counter and led the way outside. He motioned toward the car, and Hearne obediently climbed in, being evidently of so little account in the gang that he was accustomed to taking orders from everyone.
Gramont headed out of town and took the Paradis road. Before he had driven a mile, however, he halted the car, climbed out, and lifted one side of the hood.
"Give me those rags from the bottom of the car, Hearne," he said, briefly.
The other obeyed. As Gramont made no move to come and get them, Hearne got out of the car; then Gramont rose from the engine unexpectedly, and Hearne looked into a pistol.
"Hold out your hands behind you and turn around!" snapped Gramont. "No talk!"
Hearne sputtered an oath, but as the pistol jerked at him he obeyed the command. Gramont took the strips of cloth, which he had previously prepared, and bound the man's wrists.
"These are better than handcuffs," he commented. "Too many slick individuals can get rid of bracelets—but you'll have one man's job to get rid of these! Ah! a gun in your pocket, eh? Thanks."