“Oh, I’ll hurry,” Rob assured him.
The leader of the Eagles ’phoned to Merritt that he might be delayed a little on his errand and asked the corporal to take charge in his absence. Merritt readily agreed to do this, and Rob, whistling a merry tune, hastened off to the shed at the rear of the house in which Mr. Blake’s auto was kept, to prepare for his trip. Soon afterward he chugged out of the yard and was off. It was about ten miles to Willitson, and Rob was not particularly observant of the speed laws as he cut across the island. It was exhilarating sport, speeding along on the deserted roads. Once he met another auto. It was going almost as fast as he was, and the two vehicles whizzed by each other at tremendous speed. They did not go so fast, however, that the occupants of the other car did not turn and look back into the darkness.
“Look here, Dugan,” said one of them, a small, yellow-faced man—a Jap, in fact, “wasn’t that face familiar to you in the flash we had of it?”
“Only got a glance at it,” rejoined the driver of the car, a heavy-set, big-jowled man, with an immense pair of shoulders; “but it did seem to me I’d seen it some place before.”
“That was one of the boys that attacked us on the road that day, Dugan,” rejoined Hashashi, with a vindictive snarl.
“It was,” snorted Dugan angrily. “I wish I’d known that, I’d have run him down.”
“You forget that to-night we want to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible,” was the rejoinder. “You had better keep a sharp lookout—we are nearing the town now, I think.”
“That’s right. We’ll run the car off on this side lane and wait till it’s late enough for us to start working.”
“Ha! ha!” chuckled the Jap. “We remind me of those funny pills. Work while they sleep, eh, my friend?”
“Well, I hope they sleep,” grunted Dugan, turning off the main road into a rough cart-track. “If they don’t, they are likely to get some pills they don’t like—lead ones.”