Tom thought quickly. Had he been alone, he would have tried to get away, but Janet’s presence prevented any attempt at evading the law.
“What’s the trouble, constable?” he demanded.
The man laughed. “Speeding and joy-riding are the charges.”
“Oh, come. I wasn’t breaking the regulations....”
“Tell that to the J. P.” At that moment the second constable reached them, and sprang on the running-board on Janet’s side of the car. “Start her up again, and come into Hyattsville,” directed the motor cyclist, and making the best of a bad job, Tom sulkily obeyed the order. Janet, her eyes wide with excitement, sat quietly by his side. Pretending to tuck the laprobe more securely about her, he whispered in her ear:
“If they ask who you are, don’t give your real name.”
“I understand,” she muttered, and remained passive until the car, passing the lowered rope, reached its destination, escorted by the two constables. They bade Tom and Janet accompany them into the presence of the Justice of the Peace. Mr. Lenox, the gray-haired justice, heard the evidence against them in ominous silence.
“What is your name, miss?” he inquired sternly.
“Marjorie Langdon,” answered Janet readily, and Tom gave her an approving glance.
“Your residence?” Janet told him, and the Justice turned to Tom.