Patsy thanked him heartily and guided the car from the garage within twenty minutes after parting from Magill. He knew that he was playing a hazardous game and taking long chances, that he was going up against as dangerous and desperate a man as ever stood in leather, as well as crooks of like character, and that a slip of the tongue, or even the ghost of a mishap, might at any moment expose his subterfuge and put him in peril of his life.
It was not in Patsy’s nature to shrink from the undertaking on that account, however, and he hardly gave it a thought. He felt that the game was worth the candle, and he was ready to burn the candle at both ends.
Daylight was turning to the dusk of early evening when he left the garage. It was just about the time when Kate Crandall had promised to meet Magill, and Patsy at once headed for the point agreed upon. He discovered them when he entered the long street leading out of the town, moreover, and he slowed down to approach them moderately.
Magill saw him coming. Increasing confidence in him mingled with his feeling of grim satisfaction. He was talking earnestly with the woman, then in a locality where there were only a few scattered dwellings; but he had relieved her of any misgivings by turning back with her toward the town, though, in reality, only to see and make ready for Patsy when he approached. He reached into his pocket and grasped a large silk handkerchief with which he was provided.
Half a minute later brought Patsy within thirty yards of the couple. He then swerved toward them, bringing the car to a stop near the curbing.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said he, leaning out, and, at the same time, deftly unlocking the door of the tonneau. “Will this road take me to Bronxville?”
Kate Crandall paused.
Magill shook his head and stepped back of her as if to point the way for his questioner.
“No, not straight ahead,” he replied, with a significant wink. “You must take the first crossroad.”
“To the left, or right?”