Now Connie had made that very remark several times during the search for the gray sedan. Upon each occasion, she had been mistaken.
So, although her mother and Mrs. McGuire turned quickly to gaze down the street, they held little hope that she could be right.
Nearer and nearer came the automobile, passing directly under a bright street light.
“Oh, it is a gray sedan!” shouted Connie, fairly beside herself with excitement.
She tried to read the license number but could not make it out. The driver seemed to be alone in the car. He kept peering at the house numerals along the street.
“Mother,” cried Connie, “the car is slowing down!”
Even as she spoke, it stopped directly in front of the McGuire house.
“It’s the same car!” shouted Connie. “But where is Veve?”