Kenyon handed the man a bill, the size of which made him stare; then with Dallas and Webster he hurried back to the place where they had left the cars. A group of men stood upon a corner not far from them.
“Ah, there are my fellows, now,” said Kenyon, in a tone of satisfaction. “Everything is moving on schedule. Take my car with Miss Gilbert, Webster, while I speak to them.”
He strode over to the group. There were seven altogether, and Gypsy Brady and Big Slim were among them.
“How are you, pal?” saluted the latter. “I’m taking a chance, being out, but I need the money.”
“What’s the game?” inquired the Gypsy.
“Jump into that car, there, the lot of you,” directed Kenyon, shortly, pointing to the machine that Webster had arrived in. As they scrambled in, hurriedly, he continued to the driver: “Follow the other car; keep close behind, or you might lose us in the darkness.”
Then he leaped into the car with Dallas and Webster.
“Morris Heights,” he ordered. “And let us see you break a record.”
“We’ll be pinched if we try that,” protested the driver.
“We must take the risk. It is late, and there are not many people upon the streets, so there is little danger of an accident. Open her up!”