Each man in the touring party carried a large satchel, and Nick noticed that he took very good care of the grip, never letting it get out of his hands for an instant.
The satchels appeared to be rather heavy, and once, when one of them dropped to the bottom of the auto, the detective heard a jingle as of coin.
The morning was bright, the air was fresh, and for five miles the Red Spider cut along at a smart clip.
“Show me how to operate the thing,” said Martin, and Nick instructed him in the art.
“How long have you had this machine, Mr. Martin?” Nick asked.
A silence followed the question, during which Martin exchanged looks with the men on the rear seat.
“Close onto two years,” said Martin, finally. “What do you want to know for?”
“It seems strange that you haven’t learned something about running the Red Spider in two years.”
Martin leaned forward and rapped Nick on the shoulder.
“Look here, Jones,” he growled, “don’t you get too blamed inquisitive. It’s liable to strike in and carry you off.”