“Oh—h!” A gasp of horrified recollection escaped her. “I never thought of it! Of course you've had no dinner!”
He laughed. “Have you?” he asked amusedly.
“No, but that's different.”
“Well, we'll even matters up by having some sandwiches together presently. Mrs. Judson has packed some in.”
Sara was silent, inwardly dwelling on the fact that no least detail ever seemed to escape Garth's attention. Even in the hurry of their departure, and with the whole scheme of Molly's rescue to envisage, he had yet found time to order due provision for the journey.
An hour later they pulled up at the principal hotel of the first big town on the route, and Garth elicited the fact that a car answering to the description of Lester Kent's had stopped there, but only for a bare ten minutes which had enabled its occupants to snatch a hasty meal.
“They've been here and gone straight on,” he reported to Sara. “Evidently Kent's taking no chances”—grimly. And a moment later they were on their way once more.
Dusk deepened into dark, and the car's great headlights cut out a blazing track of gold in front of them as they rushed along the pale ribbon of road that stretched ahead—mile after interminable mile.
On either side, dark woods merged into the deeper darkness of the encroaching night, seeming to slip past them like some ghostly marching army as the car tore its way between the ranks of shadowy trunks. Overhead, a few stars crept out, puncturing the expanse of darkening sky—pale, tremulous sparks of light in contrast with the steady, warmly golden glow that streamed from the lights of the car.
Presently Garth slackened speed.