"We may have to make a lively run," said Garrison. "My motor-car is two blocks away."
They were still a block from the waiting car when, with yells and a furious blowing of his whistle, Theodore came running to the street before his house. One minute later a big red car, with the chief of the town's police and the chief of the local firemen, shot around the corner into Myrtle Avenue, and came to a halt before the residence which the fugitives had just barely quitted.
"Make a run for it now, we're in for a race," said Garrison, and, with Dorothy skipping in excitement beside him, he came to his waiting chauffeur.
"That fellow up the street is on our trail!" he said. "Cut loose all the speed you've got. Fifty dollars bonus if you lose the bunch before you cross the bridge to New York!"
He helped Dorothy quickly to her seat inside, and only pausing to note that Theodore was clambering hotly into the big red car, two long village blocks away, he swung in himself as the driver speeded up the motor.
Then, with a whir and a mighty lurch as the clutch went in, the automobile started forward in the road.
Ten seconds later they were running full speed, with the muffler cut out, and sharp percussions puncturing the air like a Gatling gun's terrific detonations.
The race for New York had commenced.