Danny leaned over it as if trying to solve the mystery of its being there. All that he could reason was that Mary Louise must have driven off with Uncle Jim. Then the quickest and only thing for him to do was to reach the crossroads.
His head jerked up in alarm. So engrossed had he been in Mary Louise’s disappearance that he had failed to recall the alarm which Josie must have given. Voices were floating down the garden paths and a glow of light illumined the whole house. The face of Danny Dexter was stern with resolve as with infinite caution he swung to the garage door and crept into the darkness.
He made his way carefully and with instant decision. It was as though by prearrangement, so steadily and yet so quietly he went, across the road and into the waste of meadow beyond it.
The wind had hushed by now, as though in deference to the distant roar of thunder, and a heavy warmth was weighing down the air. The perfume of the drying clover was oppressive as Danny unerringly made his way, his cap now in his pocket, and his thick hair damp on his bare forehead.
The sudden baying of a dog a long way distant caused him to pause, but the sound ceased and only the restless rumble of the approaching storm broke the perfect silence. Then Danny, convinced that he was not followed, stumbled on and reached the edge of the marsh land which skirted the river. It was an intensely lonely spot. Even the deep, full-throated croaking of the bullfrogs seemed subdued by the dank mist that hung low upon the water-soaked land, and the glimmer and sparkle of innumerable fireflies were dim and tremulous through the dusk.
The moon, now very pale and yellow, was wanly glowing a last farewell before succumbing to the piling clouds of the storm. It faintly outlined a small woodland to the right, where willows dipped their branches in the muddy soil and elderberry bushes ran riot undisturbed.
Danny smiled grimly as he thought of the trouble it had been to push Mary Louise’s automobile from its hiding-place there and get it safely home without the engine being heard. And it had all been in vain. But the last part of his errand should succeed; of this he was assured.
Pausing not an instant, he went on as best he could, leaping and slipping from hummock to hummock in the weird green of the moon and by the glowworm’s flash.
At last he was quite at the edge of the wood, and distinctly he made out the dim outline of a little Ford secluded amongst the trees which had so recently held “Queenie.” Danny Dexter felt a thrill of joy and gratitude.
“Are you there?” he called.