“Where did you come from?” demanded the young man.
“I have been hidden among the stolen goods,” replied Polly. “I’ve heard a lot about you lately, señor, but I honestly didn’t believe you were a thief until I saw with my own eyes.”
Pachuca stopped the machine and turning glared at the girl, also at the weapon which she pointed with a very unsteady hand in his direction.
“If you’ll put that thing down I’ll try to explain to you the difference between stealing and requisitioning property in war times,” he said, angrily.
“If you’ll turn the car around you can explain all the way back to Athens,” said Polly, sharply. “I’m awfully tired and stiff and my hand is shaky—the man who gave me this gun told me it was ready to go off. I don’t want it to go off but if it does I can’t help it. Will you please turn around?”
“No, I won’t. The road is too narrow.”
“I’ve turned a Red Cross ambulance around in a lane no wider than this out near Fort Sheridan and I didn’t spill anybody either. You’re a better driver than I am.”
Pachuca shrugged his shoulders but he turned the car. There was an ugly look in his eyes and Polly clutched her weapon tightly. She tried to keep her voice steady but it quavered desperately.
“If you try to do anything mean—upset the car or anything like that, I’m going to fire—I certainly will—as sure as I’m red-headed.”
The car sped on. Suddenly Pachuca’s shoulders began to shake. He turned a laughing face toward Polly.