"Out in the open at last! All things come to him who waits. Sleep. That's what he is after. Since the fumes I'll wager he has kept an eye open every night; and it's beginning to tell on him. Everything is turning out beautifully: the wreck, the storm, his restlessness."
"If that black fool had only told us about that knocking!"
"Never mind the spilled milk. We all know what to do; let us see that we do it. I'll notify the local police at once. This may be the end of the chase. This porter is telling us the truth. I believe now that the other porter told the truth. Mathison isn't relying upon anybody to help him out. He hasn't sent any telegrams or received any. At least, not from his own car. It may be.... No; he never leaves the compartment. Yet there's those three taxis. How could these turn up if he hadn't telegraphed? Never mind. Here is where we shall trip him up. I'll go and tell Berta."
Shortly after he rapped on the door of the second compartment. The door was opened cautiously.
"Oh!" said the woman with the mole.
The blond man stepped inside. "Good news! He's going into this town for the night. There's a wreck ahead, and we'll be stalled all night. He's going to risk it in the open at last. Sleep. He's going to pieces for the want of it. Out in the open!"
"It is time. I am dead. I'll never get the cramp out of my poor body. Nearly three thousand miles cooped up like this! You were free. I had to stay packed away in this suffocating box." She stooped and peered out of the window. The suburb lights were flashing by. "A horrible night!"
"On the contrary, I should call it beautiful. We are and have been perfectly prepared against a move like this. He carries two things I must have."
"I shall be glad when it's over."
"To-night. It will depend upon you. Be careful. He is very strong and clever. I thought the chase would be over in Chicago last night. He tricked me neatly. But green plush!" The blond man laughed quietly.