"Next get together five other good cars without any distinctive marks. Come yourself in one of them, and bring a dozen good men. Meet me—let me see—What town is there near Greenwood City, Long Island, but not on the same road?"
"Ringstead, two miles South."
"Know a hotel there?"
"Mitchell's a road house."
"Good. Have your five cars proceed to Mitchell's by different roads as quickly as possible. I may not be able to come there to you, but wait there for further instructions by telephone."
"O.K.," he said. "We'll be on the way in ten minutes."
"One thing more. Bring a good pair of field glasses."
I took my own binoculars and a gun. On the way to the meeting-place I bought a road map of Long Island. The car was already waiting for me at the spot named. Lanman was a man after my own heart.
We made quick time. I was provided with a police badge in case any of the local constables should object to our rate of travel. On the road I studied my map and got the lay of the land in my head.
It was twelve-five when we reached Greenwood City, or fifty minutes before the train was due. As we passed the railway station I saw a car already waiting there, and I wondered idly if that would have anything to do with my case. It was a very distinguished-looking car of a foreign make with a dark green body of the style the French call coupé de ville. It seemed a little odd that any one should choose to ride in a closed car in such hot weather. An irreproachable chauffeur and footman waited near.