“Why——”
“Cut it, now,” Lombard interrupted. “There’ll be time enough for a spiel after you get there. Sit back and keep quiet.”
The rascal had drawn the black bag over Nick’s head while speaking, and Nick was forced to comply with the last. He settled back in the cushioned corner and relapsed into silence.
Though enough air entered from the bottom for him to breathe freely, the thick black bag completely blinded him. It was like being enveloped in Stygian darkness, and Nick bent his mind upon trying to determine the course the limousine was taking.
That also proved entirely futile. He soon decided that many turns were being purposely made, and that they were not going direct to their destination.[{33}]
For nearly half an hour, as well as he could judge, the car sped on and not a word came from his companion.
Nick then felt through the open window a more damp and chilly air, as if it came from the Potomac.
The varied noises of the city had been left far behind. Only the occasional distant clang of a trolley-car gong reached his listening ears. The road had become more rough. He knew that he was passing through one of the less thickly settled outskirts.
The car at length turned sharply, and Nick sensed that it was entering an inclosed area of some kind. Suddenly it stopped and he heard the driver spring to the ground. Lombard opened the door and seized the detective’s wrist.
“Steady, now, and keep your trap closed,” he said, with a growl. “Step out of the car. I’ll guide you.”